THE CALL OF THE ELF'S HORN
Jean, however, had no intention of failing those who so strongly relied
upon him. He approached his difficult task with a confidence in his own
powers which long years of the free, independent life of the great
outdoors had given him. He knew the secrets of the wilderness as few men
knew them. He had little doubt that much which had remained obscure to
those already engaged in the search for Tom Gray would be made clear to
him. Alone in the world, Jean had long since come to regard the Eight
Originals as "his folks." Of the four girls, Grace Harlowe had always
been his favorite. Of the four boys, Tom Gray had held first place in
his heart. The young man's frank, delightful personality, coupled with
his intense love of Nature, had served signally to endear him to the old
hunter.
As Jean had reverently assured Grace, it was indeed, to him, a sacred
mission on which he was now setting forth, and he longed impatiently for
the moment to come when he might leave the narrow confines of the
railway train and set foot in the little village nearest to the lumber
camp. Mrs. Gray had insisted on providing him liberally with the funds
she deemed necessary for the continuance of the search. Jean had stoutly
protested against this liberality. Overruled, he had given in somewhat
reluctantly, consoling himself with the thought that when M'sieu' Tom
was found he would give back the greater part of the money which had
been thus thrust upon him. His sturdy soul rose in revolt at the very
idea of tucking himself away in a Pullman berth, even for a night. Such
cubby-holes were not for him, he disdainfully reflected. He preferred to
sit up all night and amuse himself by watching the fleeting, indistinct
landscape through which the train was pursuing its steady run toward the
vast northern region that jealously concealed the mystery of Tom Gray's
fate.
As he had already informed Grace and Mrs. Gray, the territory for which
he was bound was to him a fairly familiar one. True he had not hunted in
it for several years, although once or twice he had skirted it in making
his slow, deliberate marches to and from Canada. He assured himself that
naturally he would discover some changes in the heavy forest growth,
stretching for many miles north and west of the lumber camp for which
Tom Gray had headed. Yet Jean was not in the least dismayed by the
magnitude of his task. More than once he had served as tracer of persons
lost in the trackless wildernesses. More than once he had wandered about
in the dense, pathless forests, a lost man.
While the train sped through the moonless night, Jean's sharp eyes were
trained on the weird, shadowy outlines into which darkness turns the
most commonplace objects. His nimble brain, however, was busily sorting
out the scant details that had been furnished him regarding Tom Gray,
with a view toward evolving a theory on which he might proceed. His own
good sense informed him that he could not even make a guess regarding
what had befallen his young friend until he had reached the lumber camp
and himself surveyed the situation.
Seven o'clock the next evening saw the intrepid old man hurriedly
collecting his few belongings, preparatory to making a welcome end to
the long, tiresome ride in the train. Mrs. Gray had already telegraphed
David Nesbit to be on hand at the dingy little station to meet him. The
train rolled into it, puffing and clanging a noisy protest against the
indignity of being obliged to stay its flight, even momentarily, before
the scattered collection of frame dwellings dignified by the name of
village. Hardly had it jolted itself to a reluctant stop before Jean
made a hurried exit, to peer searchingly about the station platform for
David Nesbit.
"Just the man I'm looking for," sounded a hearty voice behind him.
Whirling, he uttered a glad cry as he reached for David's outstretched
hand. "I'm certainly glad to see you, Jean."
"It is of a 'appiness to see you, M'sieu' David." Jean's weather-beaten
face registered his joy.
"Come with me, Jean. There's an apology for a hotel not far from the
station. We'd better stay there to-night, then start for the lumber camp
early to-morrow morning. It's a long hike, but I know you'd rather walk
than ride. Once we've had some supper, I can tell you what little I know
of this part of the country. Have you ever been up here before?"
"Yep; 'bout five year ago, mebbe. I hunt up here a long winter. I know
him." Jean indicated the forest beyond the village with a wide sweep of
his arm. "Once, twice, after, I pass by him w'en I go an' come from
Canada."
"Then you _do_ know something about it? I'm mighty glad to hear that.
But tell me about Oakdale and how you happened to pop up there just when
we needed you most. Grace wrote me that she had tried to find you, but
that you'd gone away."
On the way to the hotel which David had mentioned, Jean recounted in his
broken phraseology all that had happened to him since his return to
Oakdale, while David listened and commented on the strange manner in
which the news of Tom's misfortune had been brought before the old
hunter. Over a plain but palatable supper Jean continued his narrative
to the point where he had landed on the station platform. "An' now the
hunt begin," he nodded. "To-morrow we get up 'fore it is light, then we
go to camp. All 'long way I look an' remember w'at I see. After that you
show me w'ere you go hunt. After that we fin' new places far away. We
hunt till we fin' M'sieu' Tom."
"That's the idea," applauded David. "I think we'd better turn in early
at that. You must be dead tired. I know you don't like railway
traveling. Did you take a sleeper here?"
"I don't lak' him," shrugged Jean. "I sit up all night. In the woods
never I am tired, but in the train, yes. It will be good to rest."
After supper the two lingered for a while in the little room. Anxious to
get the benefit of a good night's rest preparatory to their long tramp
of the morning, it was not long before they climbed the narrow stairs to
their rooms.
Five o'clock the next morning saw them eating a hasty breakfast, served
by a drowsy-eyed girl. After David had stowed into a knapsack an ample
luncheon for the two, and slung the knapsack across one shoulder, the
little search party went forth and soon left the village behind them for
the rough road that marked the beginning of their long jaunt through the
forest. Having traversed it many times since his advent into that
territory, David was well posted, yet he knew it no better than did
Jean. The sturdy old man seemed familiar with every phase of that
section. Now and again as they progressed he retailed some interesting
bit of history relative to his own wanderings therein.
Noon found them more than half way to their destination, and by four
o'clock they reached the camp, where Jean was introduced to Mr.
Mackenzie, who had recovered from his illness and returned to his duties
as overseer.
Jean discovered in the rugged Scotchman a person quite after his own
heart. Previous to meeting the overseer, he had confided to David that
he intended to make use of the tent which his young friend had stored
with Mr. Mackenzie, and sleep out of doors. By the time supper was over,
however, he was quite willing to accept the sleeping accommodations
which David had made for him at the Scotchman's house.
Seated around a deep, open fireplace, in which a fire burned cheerfully,
the three men gravely discussed the details of the proposed search. Mr.
Mackenzie was of the opinion that it would be better to blaze new trails
rather than to waste time in traveling over the ground which David and
his men had so thoroughly covered. But Jean obstinately stuck to his own
viewpoint and insisted on re-traveling that territory. For three days
the old hunter led the young man on strenuous hikes that began with dawn
and ended long after dark. During that time Jean conducted David into
all sorts of forest nooks and crannies that the latter had not even
glimpsed when searching about with the men of the camp. Yet never did
they observe the slightest sign of the object of their search.
At the end of the week, Jean announced his resolve to invade an
especially wild and lonely stretch of forest to the west. "To-morrow
morning we start," he declared. "We go mebbe twenty-five, mebbe fifty
mile, mebbe more. Mebbe gone a week."
"But Tom could never have gone so far away in so short a time," reminded
David. "Besides, when last seen he was headed directly north."
Jean shrugged. "Mebbe he lose his way. Mebbe travel all night in storm
in wrong direction. Then----" Again Jean's square shoulders went into
eloquent play. "Anyway we go wes'," he stubbornly maintained.
The evening of another day saw them wending their difficult way
westward, according to Jean's plan. Surrounded by a particularly dense
and rugged stretch of forest growth they rolled up in their blankets and
slept under a great tree. Jean assured David that they had come not more
than fifteen miles, due to the difficulty they had encountered in
forcing their way through the endless undergrowth, though the young man
felt sure they had traveled fifty.
"I couldn't get those fellows from the camp to come over here for love
nor money," remarked David the next morning, as he and Jean fried their
bacon and made coffee over the fire. "They say that a wild man was once
seen somewhere in this range of forest. I guess it's all talk, though.
Mr. Mackenzie never saw him. He says it's a story made up by timber
thieves to keep people away."
Old Jean looked reflective. "Once I know wil' man," he remarked. "First
time I see him, jus' lak' any man. He great, big man; long black hair,
an' strong; very strong. 'Bout six foot, three inch. He live in little
cabin, 'bout hundred mile from here, wit' his son. Every year they go
Canada an' hunt. Then come back and sell skins. My, how that man love
that son! One day storm come an' tree fall on son. Kill him dead. Then
the father go wil'; crazy in the 'aid. All his black hair turn white.
After that I never see him again. Mebbe dead, too."
"I hope nothing like that happened to good old Tom." David shuddered.
"Jean, honestly, do you think we'll ever find the boy?"
"_Le bon Dieu_ know," Jean crossed himself reverently.
"I don't think much of the sheriff up here," continued David. "He simply
laid down on his job after the first week or two. After Mrs. Gray had
offered a reward he made quite a lot of fuss. But it all died out
quickly. Blaisdell's done his best, but this isn't his kind of a job.
Half a dozen so-called woodsmen up here have tried their hand at it,
too. I spoke to the sheriff about this very piece of woods that we've
invaded, but he claimed he'd gone all over the ground. I don't believe
it, though. He gave me to understand that he thought the whole affair
was very queer. He even asked me if Mrs. Gray wasn't holding back
something. He hinted that she and Tom might have quarreled over family
matters and that Tom was keeping out of sight on purpose to worry her. I
reminded him that Tom had come up here to help Mr. Mackenzie out and
told him a few things about Tom that ought to have changed his opinion.
But I don't think he believed me. He's a bull-headed kind of fellow that
would never admit himself in the wrong," ended David in disgust.
"I hav' seen many such," commented Jean soberly. "Anyhow we are here.
W'en we hav' finish the breakfast then we start again. Mebbe some good
come to-day."
"I hope so." David's voice sounded a trifle weary. It was hard indeed to
meet with such continued discouragement.
Breakfast finished, the seekers again took up their quest. Noon found
them not more than three miles away from the spot where they had
breakfasted. The necessity of halting frequently to inspect some
especially tangled bit of undergrowth or suspicious looking covert large
enough to conceal the body of a man, made their progress painfully slow.
Toward the middle of the afternoon, a cold rain set in, thereby adding
to the discomforts of their march. Although it was early October, the
great trees above their heads were partially stripped of their foliage,
thus offering them little protection from the unceasing drizzle.
"This is awful, Jean!" exclaimed David Nesbit, as two hours later,
drenched to the skin, the wayfarers huddled together under a giant oak
tree to consider the situation. "We ought to try to find some sort of
shelter for the night. It will soon be dark and we can't go on then.
Have you any idea where we are?"
"Yep; this place 'bout eighteen mile from camp," Jean nodded
confidently. "'Bout mile mebbe little more to little valley. In valley
is the little cabin. I know him. Somebody say this cabin hav' haunt.
Somebody kill 'nother man once who liv' there. Then nobody ever go near
because dead man walk aroun' there at night. Cabin mebbe not there now.
Anyhow we see, because we know dead man can't walk aroun'."
"Lead me to the cabin. The dead man may walk around there all he likes,
provided he doesn't object to our sheltering with him," declared David
with grim humor.
Floundering through dense growths of impeding bushes and crackling
underbrush, their feet sinking into a thick carpet of soggy, fallen
leaves, the two at last reached the top of a steep, rocky elevation.
From there, in the fast fading light, they could look down into a narrow
valley, formed by the precipitous slant of two hills.
"I see him." Jean pointed triumphantly to a tiny hut, seemingly wedged
into the upper end of the valley. In the October twilight the outlines
of the shack were just visible.
"It's going to be some work to get down there," observed David,
doubtfully eyeing the uninviting prospect before them.
"Up there, not very far, it is easy," assured Jean. "You follow me, then
wait. I go ahead an' fin' the way." The indefatigable old hunter took
the lead, plodding along with the same energy that had characterized the
beginning of his day's tramp. Sturdy though he was, David soon found
himself well in the rear of the tireless old man, and it was not long
until he lost sight of him in the fast falling darkness.
Peering anxiously ahead, David flashed the small electric searchlight he
carried in an effort to discern Jean. Fearing lest he might become lost
from Jean entirely, he returned it to a coat pocket, cupped his hands to
his mouth and emitted a peculiar trumpet-like call, known as the Elf's
Horn, which Tom Gray himself had taught him. Twice he sounded it, before
he had the satisfaction of hearing Jean answer him, repeating it several
times.
Guided by the sound, and with the aid of his searchlight, David stumbled
his hurried way toward Jean, who had now halted to wait for his young
friend.
"Jean, you old rascal, I thought I'd lost you for good and all," laughed
David as he brought up at the hunter's side. "You mustn't expect too
much of a tenderfoot, you know. I'm ashamed to admit it, but----"
David's laughing admission was never finished. Over the monotonous
complaint of the rain rose a sound which made their hearts stand still.
From the very depths of the narrow valley floated up to them that
unmistakable trumpet call, the Elf's Horn.