OUT OF THE VALLEY
"Did you hear that, Jean?" David's voice sunk to a sibilant whisper. He
was trembling violently as he asked the question.
For answer, Jean raised shaking hands to his mouth. Again the call of
the Elf's Horn shrilled above the murmuring rain, and again, this time
clearer and louder, came the answer.
"_Le bon Dieu_ hav' hear!" came the hunter's reverent exclamation.
Stopping only to make the sign of the cross, the old man plunged down
the perilous steep, David Nesbit at his heels. How they had come safely
into the valley, neither was afterward able to explain, nor did they
stop to remark it, once they had descended. Both men were intent only on
reaching the spot from whence had emanated that blessed call.
"There's only one person up here who could answer that call, Jean."
David's tones were vibrant with emotion. "It's Tom Gray! I know it, and
he's in that hut."
Stumbling desperately on in the greater darkness of the valley, they
reached the hut at last.
"Tom!" shouted David at the top of his lungs. "Tom Gray! Are you there?"
"Yes," sounded the unbelievable reply from within the hut. "Is that you,
David! I was sure of it when I heard the Elf's Horn and answered the
call. I knew you'd come for me some day."
"Yes, old fellow; it's David," rang out the triumphant cry. "Thank God,
you are alive! Jean is with me."
"_Le bon Dieu_ hav' hear," was Jean's muttered repetition, as the two
men made a concerted dash upon the shack, in a wild effort to locate the
door. Finding it by the aid of their flashlights, they made a determined
onslaught upon it, but it stubbornly resisted their importuning hands.
"Hello, Jean! It's too good to be true. I might have known I could count
on you, though," came the welcome salutation from within. More anxiously
Tom Gray added: "You'll have to break the door down, if you can. It's
locked from the outside. _He_ carries the key. Hurry or he may come
back." Tom's voice quivered with dread.
David groaned. His mind on this unexpected obstacle, which now
confronted them, he did not stop to consider who the mysterious "he" in
the problem might be. Tom's very tones indicated the hovering near of
some great danger. "Isn't there a window in the cabin? Can't you climb
out of it?" he shouted desperately. Inwardly he marveled that stalwart
Tom Gray should be caught in such a trap.
"There are two windows, or rather holes in the cabin, but they are too
high up. I can't reach them. My leg was broken and it's not strong
enough yet to risk such a climb." This response was made in despairing
tones.
At the mention of windows, Jean had begun to circle the cabin. Turning
his flashlight on the strong-timbered walls of the hut, he soon made out
one of those windows. "M'sieu' David," he called, "come. You will lif'
me an' I will clim' in this hole. Then we 'urry an' get M'sieu' Tom out,
mebbe." Jean's "mebbe" indicated uncertainty. The situation did not look
hopeful and there was evidently no time for questions regarding the how,
when and why of the affair.
Helped by David, Jean's sinewy fingers soon clutched the lower part of
the primitive window. Being thin and wiry, he had no difficulty in
drawing himself up to it. With the skill of an acrobat he swung one leg
over the opening. The task of drawing himself through was much harder to
accomplish. But the will to do so was paramount. Emitting a jubilant
shout of accomplishment, he dropped, landing lightly on the cabin floor.
Before he could bring his searchlight into play, an indistinct form had
seized him in a feeble but affectionate grip. "Jean--good--old Jean!"
Tom's broken utterance held a sob of relief and thankfulness.
"Oh, M'sieu' Tom," Jean's own voice overran with emotion, "is it of a
truth that we hav' fin' you at las'?" Tears of joy were rolling down his
weather-beaten cheeks, as he added with sublime faith, "_Le bon Dieu_
hav' hear!"
In the overwhelming joy of reunion all else was for the moment
forgotten. David's stentorian tones asking, "Are you all right, Jean?"
brought back swift realization of the situation. "Can't you manage
between the two of you to do something to that door? I'll help all I can
from this side."
"Yes; all right," returned Jean. Then to Tom: "Hav' you not then the
axe, to chop him into splinter'? This very queer way to fin' you,
M'sieu' Tom. But now we not stop to ask question, we 'urry, get you out.
Go 'way an' then talk. It is to see that you are the prisoner."
"Prisoner!" Tom's exclamation vibrated with bitterness. "You can't
believe what I've been through. You're right about hurrying to get me
out. There's no time to be lost. No, there's neither an axe or a hatchet
here. He's too cunning for that. But in one corner of the room is a
heavy iron bar. It hasn't done me any good. I've been too weak to use
it. Is your rifle outside, Jean? If he should come back before we can
get away, you'll need it. Two sturdy men and one poor excuse like myself
couldn't handle him. He's the strongest fellow I ever saw." His voice
rising he called warning to David. "Keep a sharp watch, old man. If you
see or hear anyone coming, give us the signal."
"I'm on the job," floated back David's reassuring response.
"Show to me the bar," ordered Jean with the brevity of one whose mind is
set on swift action.
Without replying, Tom limped a straight course in the dark to a corner
of the one-room shack. "I've looked at that bar so often and so
longingly I could find my way to it if I were blind," he commented with
grim wistfulness. "There's not much else in the room, except a bench and
a bough bed."
Following at his heels, Jean used one hand to train his light on the
bar. Soon the other hand had fastened itself firmly around it. "He very
strong," was his terse observation. "If you will 'old the light, I try
him." Raising his voice he shouted, "M'sieu' David, we hav' foun' very
strong piec' iron. Now we try smash open the door. You stan' by, ready.
Then soon we go 'way from here with M'sieu' Tom."
Limping ahead of the old hunter, Tom flashed the searchlight directly on
the heavy door. "There's the door, Jean," he said, his tones thrilling
with new hope. "Wait a minute until I limp out of your way. I'm not
going to risk further accident. Now; go ahead and strike hard!"
Jean needed no second bidding. Resolutely gripping the bar, he raised it
on high and dealt the stubborn obstruction to Tom's freedom a
reverberating blow. Three times he brought it down upon the opposing
portal. Half a dozen more swings of the bar and splinters began to fly
from it.
Outside the shack, David Nesbit's eyes and ears were busy obeying Tom's
warning instructions. Whom Tom feared and why he was afraid, his chum
had not the remotest idea. Every crashing blow which Jean dealt the
door, sent a thrill of joy to David's heart. He would have liked to
shout his jubilation, but refrained for fear his friends within the
shack would misinterpret his loud rejoicing as a danger signal.
For at least fifteen minutes Jean continued to batter the door, resting
briefly at intervals. At the end of that time, he had demolished it
sufficiently to make room for a man to crawl through. To break it down
completely would have taken too much precious time.
"It--is--don'!" he panted at length. "Now we go 'way soon. First I try
him. If still you hav' the coat an' 'at, M'sieu' Tom, put him on; but
'urry."
"I've already done so," assured Tom with fervor. "It's lucky for me that
lunatic didn't see fit to hide my clothes."
Jean pricked up his ears at the word "lunatic," but said nothing.
"Careful," he cautioned solicitously, as Tom, essaying to make his exit
from the hut, drew back, uttering a faint moan of pain. "It is for me to
'elp you." Secretly marveling at Tom's light weight, Jean lifted him in
his arms. Bidding him straighten his legs, Jean called to David to stand
by to receive his burden. Then the old hunter passed him through the
opening to David as though Tom had been a bag of meal. Hastily
scrambling through after him, Jean was just in time to witness the
affecting meeting which took place between the two young men. Tom's
first words after greeting David were: "Tell me quickly, how are Grace
and Aunt Rose?" And in the darkness no one saw the flood of emotion that
mastered Tom Gray as he learned the deep, abiding belief of his loved
ones that he would return.
Though the night lay black around them, the rain had ceased falling.
Directing the rays of his searchlight on Tom, David gave a horrified
gasp at the sight of his chum's pale, emaciated features.
"I don't look much like myself, do I?" asked the prisoner with a short
laugh. "The fact is, I don't know just how I do look, but I guess it's
pretty bad."
"But how in the world did you ever come to be----" began David.
"No time for talk now," broke in Jean. "We mus' 'urry, an' get way off
from here. You can walk a little, M'sieu' Tom? Not far? We 'elp you.
There is easy way out of valley."
Yet it was not an easy matter, even with the combined force of the two
men, to conduct Tom Gray out of the valley in which he had spent so many
weary, hopeless weeks. His left leg, which had been broken above the
knee, was far from strong. It was only within the past week that he had
been able to limp painfully about the narrow confines of his jail. Once
outdoors, the darkness of the night and the roughness of treacherous,
rock-strewn ground made progress barely possible. Neither did Jean nor
David dare to undertake carrying him. Burdened with Tom, a single
misstep on the part of either was likely to prove disastrous to all
three.
"We mus' tak' the chance," declared Jean gravely to David, when at last
the arduous ascent from the valley had been stumblingly accomplished.
"'Bout four mile 'way we caché the t'ings. Only I hav' the rifle an' the
blanket of us two, an' M'sieu' David hav' the knapsack. In that we hav'
the supper. We go little furder. W'en we fin' the big rock, we lie on it
the blanket, an' on him we lie M'sieu' Tom. Then, you an' me, we stay up
an' watch. W'en morning com', then we mak' litter an' carry M'sieu' Tom.
I hav' hear him speak of wil' man. If wil' man com', Jean will be ready
to shoot at him the rifle. You are satisfy?"
"I don't see that we can very well do differently," was David's rueful
reply. "At least we shall have a chance to find out from Tom just what
has happened to him."
"No; M'sieu' David." Jean shook a respectful but decided head. "For
to-night we mus' say no much. M'sieu' Tom is too tire' to talk. Also we
mus' keep the quiet. No much nois'; no fire to cook the supper. The ear
of a wil' man hear far off. It is good if we miss him. You hav' hear
M'sieu' Tom say the wil' man is very strong. Jean is not 'fraid. But
many year he hunt, an' never shoot the rifle at any man. Now he pray _le
bon Dieu_ that he never may hav' it to do."