A Hand-to-hand Encounter
While Joe lies senseless in the depths of the forest, lost entirely to
his friends, and in as desperate a condition as he well could be, it
will be as well to follow the footsteps of Mike and Hank as they dashed
away in pursuit of Hurley. Both were well accustomed to the muskegs
and the timbered lands of Canada, and, if only the truth were known,
had before now been engaged in a similar expedition. But following a
murderer during the daytime through such a place, and at a sedate pace,
was entirely different from the same attempt at night, and all the
while at such speed that precautions could not be taken.
"Ef that ain't the third time I've barged into a tree trunk and near
had all the breath knocked out of my body," growled Mike, when he had
progressed a mile, and was still well behind Hank. "Seems to me that
we should ha' done better to sit down and wait till morning, or lit
pine knots and then followed. Hank may do it; I shan't. This forest
fairly beats me."
But Mike was a man possessed of wonderful perseverance and tenacity,
and, in spite of the numerous occasions on which he blundered into
trees, he held to the chase till he also, like Joe, lost his comrade.
He stood listening for a sound to tell him where Hank was striding
between the trees, then, hearing nothing after quite a long wait, the
wary and experienced Mike sat down in the most comfortable attitude he
could assume, dragged his ever-faithful pipe from his pocket, and,
having filled and lit the weed, puffed away philosophically.
"Hurley ain't got nothing to fear from me, that's certain," he told
himself, not without some amount of disappointment and bitterness.
"But Hank is the boy to keep him running. The little chap is that
hard, he could keep at it all night and right into to-morrow, and he'll
stick to his man unless something clean throws him off the scent. For
me, reckon I'm trapped here. I'll have a smoke and then a sleep.
Early in the morning I'll consider things, and then push on or make
back to the hut, as seems best."
Meanwhile Hank slid through the forest as only a practised hunter could
have done. It was on this night expedition that he proved his worth,
as also the value of an early training. For while Mike dashed so often
against a tree, and we know that Joe had done so to his own injury,
Hank seemed intuitively to know when a low-hung branch stretched across
the path he was following. More than that, somehow he contrived to
keep directly on the trail which Hurley was making.
"I'm getting closer," he told himself, when a whole hour had passed.
"Any time now Hurley'll turn, and then, ef he don't climb down and cry
out that he's beaten, I'll have to put lead into his carcass. That's
him 'way ahead, making as much noise as a bull would ef he was
gallopin' through the forest."
Loud bangs and crashes indeed told of Hurley's presence, for the trees
carried every sound, and accentuated most. It may be imagined,
therefore, that the sudden cessation of all noise astonished Hank
considerably.
"Eh?" he asked himself, coming to a halt and standing perfectly still
so as to listen the better. Not that Hank's breath was coming fast, as
in the case of our hero; no, he was not even panting. His heart beats
were scarcely increased in number in spite of his exertions, which only
went to prove that constant training, correct diet, a good digestion,
and a happy and contented mind are advantages possessed by men such as
Hank who live their lives in the open. "Not so much as a sound," he
told himself. "Now, what has happened? Seems to me likely that Hurley
aer turned and ha' got his gun ready fer shootin'. Wall, an old bird
same as me don't get frightened jest because lead may be flyin'. It
wants a clever or a lucky man to make a hit in the darkness, specially
when there's tree trunks all round to give a fellow cover. I'm going
to move forward."
He drew back the hammer of his gun, for Hank was a conservative little
fellow.
"None of yer new-fangled guns fer me," he had said more than once.
"Mind you, I 'low as the new 'uns is fine, and has many advantages. A
chap can load and fire twenty times perhaps while I am fiddling with
this trigger. 'Sides, I've one myself, and know 'em well. But ef
there ain't likely to be quick firin', give me this old thing."
Gripping the weapon in one hand, he bent double and went on stealthily,
and in five minutes he had gained some fifty paces. But of Hurley
there was no sign. The murderer gave no signal which told of his
whereabouts, and though Hank stole on farther, still there was nothing
to indicate where Hurley had got to.
"Fair beats the band," growled Hank, beginning to doubt his own powers
of trackin'. "I'm past the spot where I last heard him, and I'm dead
sure he ain't been within ten yards. Hurley aer a town man, and I'm
game to say as he couldn't have sat so still as I should miss him.
This fair puzzles me--oh!"
His keen ear heard something towards the left, then again there was
silence, save for the murmur of the breeze playing amongst the leaves
overhead. Hank slid in that direction promptly, only again he gave a
gasp of astonishment, and finally one of extreme annoyance; for it
seemed that he had missed Hurley's new path by but a very little. It
is not to be wondered at that he had not always been able to follow the
exact steps which the fugitive had taken, for he was tracking now not
by signs conveyed to him by leaves and sticks and bushes, but by sound
alone--the noise of the murderer as he broke his way through the
underwood. When that had ceased, Hank had lost direction slightly. He
had turned just a little to the right, whereas to the left, where
Hurley had passed, there was a curious clearing. It was a broad glade,
in fact the same through which the falling sun had sent its glancing
rays to the surface of the lake. Clear of trees, thickly covered with
grass, it offered a carpet which deadened all footsteps. No wonder
that Hank had heard nothing. It was a fortunate matter, indeed, that
some slight sound, perhaps his boot striking a pebble, had shown
Hurley's position. Hank bounded into the glade as if he had been shot
out of the forest.
"Thunder!" he growled. "Ef that ain't the cutest move of any as he's
practised! He's made back towards the lake, that's fer certain. There
ain't no use in waitin'."
Once more his gun was trailed, and this time, bent less low than
formerly, the little hunter went speeding off in the direction Hurley
had taken. Nor did the darkness trouble him, for whereas amongst the
trees it had been intensely dark, here in the glade it was
comparatively light, and a man with eyes such as Hank possessed could
detect every obstruction.
We will leave him in pursuit of Hurley, and, having already shown Mike
calmly smoking in his leafy retreat, will once more visit our hero.
Joe was in a sad way, and it was, without shadow of doubt, a boon to
him that collision with a tree knocked him senseless, for but a few
moments before there had come to him that stupid, senseless frenzy
which comes to those who are lost. Even the brave man is not proof
against that frenzy. Sudden, nameless terror snatches at him; the very
silence mocks him, while calmness and reason, virtues of which he may
well have been the proud possessor earlier, leave him as if he were a
leper. Distraction, desperate and hopelessly unavailing effort follow,
and finally there comes exhaustion. The unhappy wretch who is entirely
lost may become calm when strength has left him, and die merely from
want of food and water; but more often madness is the enemy which
finally accounts for his ending.
It was as well, therefore, for Joe that a severe blow on the head drove
all sense and knowledge from him. He lay like a log for hours, and if
we describe his condition faithfully, we must declare that the blow was
not entirely responsible. Joe was fagged out with his long efforts; it
happened, therefore, that a deep, refreshing sleep followed upon the
unconsciousness produced by collision, and carried him well on into the
morning. The shaded rays of a risen sun were streaming in upon his
leafy prison when he finally opened his eyes.
"Hallo! Hank!" he called, and, getting no reply, turned to stare about
him. "My word, don't my head hurt just! Now, how's that? Why, if----
Where am I?"
His brain was still muddled, though wonderfully refreshed, and for
quite a little while he sat thinking, trying to remember exactly what
had happened. Then the knowledge of his true position came to him--he
was lost in the forest.
"And made a fine ass of myself, to be sure," he cried, remembering his
fears of the previous evening.
"Lost my head; got scared at the silence, and then went barging right
and left. This is the dickens of a muddle. Here am I, goodness knows
where. Anyway, in Canada, I'm dead certain."
That set him laughing--for Joe was a merry fellow--moreover, the warm
rays of the sun streaming down upon him, together with the fact that
the past few days had accustomed him to his surroundings, cheered him
wonderfully. He began to whistle, an old habit, and then recollected
that he was hungry.
"I'll be better for some food, that's certain," he told himself. "I
can't think properly as yet. But there's one thing I am sure of--I
behaved like a child of two last night. I clean lost my head, and am
jolly glad there wasn't anyone else here to watch me. My, how Hank
would laugh, and Fennick too! Wonder how he and his wife are doing,
and Jim and Claude too. Wonder, also, whether Hurley's captured."
Quite accidentally his hand fell into the bag which he had suspended
over his shoulder, and it was with a gasp of pleasure that he
remembered that provisions were inside. Joe dragged them out, and,
just to show his independence, gathered some sticks and lit a fire.
Water was what he wanted now, and a search for that commodity told him
still more of his own condition of mind on the previous evening; for
his way took him along the track he had himself formed, and presently
he came to a part which looked very much as if a circus horse had been
driven there, and forced to carry out all sorts of evolutions. Tracks
led through the underwood to right and left, crossed one another, and
joined sometimes so that two or three were side by side. In one he
came upon his rifle, a find which caused him pleasure; but where the
outlet was, in what direction he had been coming when he reached this
spot, Joe could discover not the smallest inkling.
"Anyway, there's water," he said, filling the kettle which he carried
slung to his belt, and which had received a sad battering in the
forest. "Jolly glad I've got the tea--that'll put life into me--then
I'll have to think this matter out; shouldn't wonder if a shot wouldn't
bring an answer."
It was a brilliant idea, and cheered him wonderfully. Let us say, too,
that Joe needed cheering. In spite of his undoubted courage, and of a
naturally cheery disposition, the terror of the intense silence of his
huge prison sometimes almost got the better of him. It was with an
obvious effort that he beat down the feeling. Retracing his steps to
the fire and busying himself with his cooking preparations helped him
wonderfully, and when at length he had swallowed a hot cup of tea and
had eaten a couple of grilled slices of meat he felt distinctly better.
"I'll try a shot now," he told himself, "then I'll think matters out.
I wonder in what direction I came--beats me hollow."
He was in the act of loading, for he had withdrawn the cartridge popped
into his gun on the previous evening, when a sound suddenly reached his
ears and caused him to sit bolt upright.
"Eh?" he asked himself. "Hank or Mike or Fox perhaps. Hope so."
There it was again, the noise made by a man thrusting a way through the
underwood. Joe gathered up his belongings, stamped out the fire, and
went off in that direction. Bang! Crash! He heard the noise time and
again, and getting nearer. It seemed, indeed, as if someone were
coming towards him. Perhaps five minutes later, when, convinced of the
fact, he had thrown himself down to wait and watch, the figure of a man
came into view, seen somewhat indistinctly between the maze of leaves
and branches.
"Mike!" thought Joe. "About his size. No; too small, though it's a
big man but less bulky than Mike. Can't be Hank. Then who is it?
Hurley!"
The knowledge that the murderer was actually before him sent a rush of
blood to Joe's head. His ears throbbed and buzzed, his pulses beat
spasmodically, while his heart thundered against his ribs.
"Hurley!"
Joe climbed silently to his feet and raised his rifle. He now could
see the man approaching him better, and could no longer have any doubt
as to who it was. It was, without a question, the murderer whom he had
fought outside the shack in defence of Tom, the very man Hank and his
fellows, with Mike, the policeman, had been following now for such a
time.
"Hurley! Still escaping! Then Hank failed to get him! Where's his
gun?"
Joe peered through the leaves and branches, and presently caught a
glimpse of the weapon which it was known the murderer carried. He bore
it before him, fending brambles away with it as he went. That gun, no
doubt, was loaded, and Hurley still able and willing to slay anyone who
dared to intercept him. What was Joe to do? Let him go? Funk the
business, or call to him and chance a bullet?
"Nasty thing if he hit me here; nobody would know. I might be badly
wounded and help never reach me. Rotten that, very!"
Joe shivered. We are describing his feelings and his actions with the
utmost truth and fairness, and truth compels us to say that he
shivered. He looked about him doubtfully, seeing nothing but leaves
and waving branches and underwood, with the figure of a man he knew to
be already a murderer breaking a path through the forest quite near at
hand, while a rifle was borne prominently before him. Bear in mind,
too, that Joe had had a terrifying experience already, that he still
bore a wound given by the bully, while his scalp was sore and his brain
still dizzy with the collisions he had experienced on the previous
evening.
"He'll miss me by fifteen feet," said Joe, measuring the distance with
his eye. "If I like to stay quiet he'll be by in a jiffy, and
then--then I'll be safe!"
He could have kicked himself for the thought; the blood flew to his
cheeks again and shamed him. He clenched his teeth and bobbed his head
higher.
"Frightfully tempting to funk the meeting," he told himself wrathfully;
"but I'll not be such a coward.
"Hurley!" he shouted.
The man stopped abruptly, his eyes shooting into sudden prominence.
[Illustration: JOE SURPRISES HURLEY]
"Hands up!" bellowed Joe, keeping well hidden. "Hands up or----"
There was a loud report which reverberated through the wood, while a
rattle overhead told its tale unpleasantly. A shower of severed leaves
sprayed on to Joe's head, while he listened to a curious click with
which soldiers are familiar.
"Loading again--might get me next time. Shall I plug him?" he asked
himself.
Very cautiously he lifted his rifle, and with it his head, which he had
ducked at Hurley's shot. But where was the man? There was no sign of
him. He had disappeared entirely.
"Dropped down where he was, and is waiting and watching. Dead certain
he isn't moving," said Joe, "or I'd hear him. I'll wait and watch too."
Presently his patience was rewarded. A black sleeve came into
view--only a tiny triangle showing--then the muzzle of the weapon. Joe
levelled his own on the sleeve and called again loudly.
"Drop that gun, Hurley," he shouted roughly, "or take the consequences!"
The answer came so swiftly that he was astonished, and once again our
hero had the unpleasant feeling of a bullet passing within close
distance of him. Under the circumstances it required nerve to kneel a
little higher, take aim just a foot below the spot where he had seen
that sleeve, and press his own trigger. Then, like a dart, he sprang
away, and within a moment was located behind a stout birch tree, which
gave excellent cover.
"Got him, I think," he gasped. "There was a shout directly I fired.
Wonder if I killed him?"
The thought set his ears tingling and a nasty cold feeling down the
centre of his back. Joe wasn't bloodthirsty by any means. He hated
the very thought of killing a man; but here it was decidedly a case of
Hurley or himself. Softness and pity would be thrown away on such a
villain; the smallest advantage allowed would certainly end in his own
undoing. It was with the utmost caution, then, that our hero peeped
out from behind cover, while his fingers were busily employed in
thrusting a fresh cartridge into his rifle. Moreover, he listened
eagerly for any sound which might tell him that Hurley was moving. Joe
had, in fact, an artful and cunning foe to deal with, and quickly found
that he was very far from effecting his purpose, also that the murderer
was by no means likely to give in without a struggle. For as he peeped
from behind the shelter of his tree a figure rose suddenly, a weapon
was fired, and at the same instant down went the figure.
"Thunder!" he exclaimed, using an exclamation which Hank was in the
habit of employing. "That was a near one; chipped a nice little piece
out of the bark of the tree and--yes, perforated the butt of my rifle."
Very cautiously he peered round the tree again, and then, with a sudden
feeling of elation, caught sight of a black object slowly rising above
the undergrowth. Joe dropped his sights on it and pressed the trigger
steadily; but, to his amazement, the black object continued to rise for
the space of a few seconds, then it dropped just as suddenly out of
view.
"Huh!" he grunted. "A decoy! Lifted his coat on a stick and drew my
fire. Two can play at that game."
But even if he were to follow Hurley's example, caution and cunning
were still required. Joe dropped on to hands and knees and then spread
himself face downwards on the ground. In that position he wormed his
way along some three yards to the right, where he again took cover
behind a tree, and on this occasion he lifted his head with the
greatest care.
"He'll be watching the tree where I was located," he told himself, "and
if I wait a little he'll show himself, seeing that I don't put in an
appearance. Then will be the time to aim straight, for I am sure that
if I don't take the fullest advantage of every opportunity he will
shoot me down."
"That 'ere young cub that was the cause of most of my trouble," growled
Hurley, as he lay on the ground awaiting developments. "Wall, it might
ha' been wuss; I kin knock him out easy ef I'm just ordinarily
cautious, then there won't be no one in the way. I'll double the hull
way back--that's what I'll do--get along to the railway, and board a
freight train. Down by Niagara Falls there won't be no difficulty in
hoppin' across the suspension bridge, and afore these fools is much the
wiser I'll be hid up in Buffalo."
His keen eye detected Joe's new position, and, watching closely, he
soon saw a portion of the latter's clothing projecting from behind the
tree. Up went his rifle, and an instant later the clothing fell to the
ground. With a shout of triumph, Hurley stood to his feet, only to
drop back again like a stone; for Joe was undamaged. He had merely
played Hurley's trick upon himself, and now that the opportunity had
come to him, he stood out from cover and fired direct at the man.
Unfortunately, however, he was too late, his bullet tearing on through
the undergrowth.
"The young cuss!" growled Hurley, startled by his narrow escape. "But
I'll get even with him yet. Ef he can play a game same as that, see me
foller."
He thought it all out as he lay there in the underwood, and then once
again selected a suitable portion of a fallen branch. This time it was
his wide-brimmed hat which he raised slowly above the leaves and ferns.
But though Hurley peered from amidst the tangle of boughs and leaves,
he could see no sign of our hero. It was an intense surprise to him
when there came a flash and a loud report from the left, from an
altogether different position, while his hat twiddled round on the
branch he had thrust into it.
"Jingo! He's shootin'!" he told himself, with a growl. "Lucky my head
warn't in there. But I ain't done, not by a long way. I'll try the
trick agin, and then I fancy I shall have a surprise fer that 'ere
Britisher."
Very slowly he proceeded to elevate his hat again, and this time so
soon after the last that he guessed that Joe would hardly have had time
to change his position. So that it was again a shock to find a bullet
swishing rather from the right. However, Hurley was a man with an iron
nerve; moreover, he knew what awaited him should he be captured.
Straightway leaping to his feet and trusting to Joe not having had time
to reload, he dashed into the bush and, seeing our hero, threw himself
upon him furiously. Nor did he deign to make use of his own weapon.
Dropping it as if it were no longer of use, he gripped Joe with both
hands and, swinging him aloft as he had done once before, he prepared
to hurl him against a tree. Indeed, he almost carried out that
intention; but Joe managed to curl in his legs and so escape.
"You're jest about dead this time," gasped Hurley. "You'd have done
far better to have stayed right at home with the kids, which are yer
place, than have come out here to take grown men. That'll finish it."
But the second swing he gave didn't finish the matter. Joe was a
tougher foe to deal with than Hurley imagined, for, locking his arms
round the murderer, he defied his every effort to lift him. But all
the while he was conscious of the fact that the man was a great deal
stronger than he, and that unless he could deal him a vital blow, his
own chances were far from good. It was at this critical moment, when
the two were once more struggling fiercely and had rolled to the
ground, that a man came darting through the underwood. Dashing up to
the combatants, he placed the muzzle of his old gun against the
murderer's head and called loudly on him to surrender.
"You may jest as well throw it up, Hurley," he said, with wonderful
coolness, "fer I guess you're cornered. 'Sides, ef you're troublesome
you're like to get the sort o' dustin' a feller don't take to kindly.
So jest turn it up. Joe, get a hold of his rifle. Now, my man, you
stand there agin the tree and don't try hanky-panky. I ain't
particular whether it's the law that deals with yer or me. Savvy?"
Hurley did; he unloosed his grip of our hero promptly and, now that the
tables were turned, stood cowed and subdued in front of Hank, eyeing
his old muzzle-loader askance. As for Hank, he grinned at Joe.
"It war a near call, lad," he said. "Strange that it should be you as
really cornered him. But keep yer eye on him and yer finger on your
trigger. There ain't never no saying when he'll be up to games, though
it won't be often he'll play 'em once Mike's up. He could lift this
hulkin' feller as ef he war a baby, and my, wouldn't he give him sauce!"
Some twenty minutes later Fox put in an appearance, and after him Mike.
Hurley was promptly secured, his hands being bound behind his back, for
Mike had lost his handcuffs, while a stout cord was passed from the
lashings and secured to Fox's wrist. Then the party wended their way
through the forest, and in a wonderfully short space of time came to
the hut in which Hurley had taken refuge. Here their comrades joined
them in the evening.
"It war a close call," said Peter, when he had heard of Joe's
adventure; "but I ain't quite clear as to how it come about that you
was out there in the forest all alone. Spin us the yarn."
"I was lost, that's the simple explanation," answered Joe, telling them
how he had dashed hither and thither in a frenzy, and how a collision
with a tree had in the end sent him senseless to the ground. "And a
mighty big bump I've got to show for it," he added ruefully.
"You're jest mighty lucky to have one to show at all, young feller,"
growled Hank. "I ain't been in these parts without meeting with
similar cases. I've known young fellers, and oldish men too, go off
into the timber and never come back. I've seed a ghost of one crawl
back after a week, and he as mad as a hatter. What's more, I know what
the feelin' of bein' lost is. An old hunter same as me don't never
feel like that. When I war young it war different. Nowadays I could
find my way out anywhere. I'd do as you did, doss down fer the
night--so I reckon that blow you got war lucky,--then, when morning
came, I'd watch fer the sun, and I'd go ahead always in one direction;
but it seems to me as ef supper war ready."
"One moment," said Joe. "How was it you came upon the scene so
opportunely, Hank?"
"How? Jest like this, and simple enough. This 'ere Hurley give me the
slip, and shot out into a glade. Wall, a bit of a rattle as he passed
over a stony patch told me the direction he had taken, and precious
soon I had picked up his traces again. Seems he took to the lake,
straddling a log he found there and pushing out. But the wind war on
this shore and brought him back. Early this mornin' I dropped on his
traces and found as he'd turned south. Mike come along with Fox at the
same moment, and reckon we set out fer all we war worth. It war then
that we heard a shot, and then others. That set me movin', and--wall,
that's all."
He closed up like an oyster, and actually blushed when Joe continued.
"Not all, Hank," he said earnestly; "you saved my life. I'm grateful."
"Gee! Ef I ain't that hungry!" shouted Hank, springing to his feet
hurriedly. "George, ain't you got them steaks frizzled yet?"
"Ready," came the answer, while George held a stick to which the steaks
were skewered aloft.
"Then we'll eat," growled Hank, as if he had recently had a quarrel
with our hero; "and mind, there ain't no more gassin'."
"He aer fair set on you," whispered Peter, after the meal, taking Joe
aside. "He knew you was in trouble, and I tell you he wouldn't rest.
All night he war searchin' for your traces, and ef he hadn't bustled,
guess he'd have reached you too late. Hank aer the queerest little
morsel as ever I set eyes on."
"He's a fine fellow," declared Joe eagerly. "Some day I'll get even
with him."
The following morning they mounted again, and in due course reached the
settlements, where the party divided.
"Hank's comin' along to stay with us," said Peter. "How's that, young
'un?"
"Ripping!" Joe meant it; he had taken a huge fancy to the little
hunter, and hoped, if he were lucky, to learn a great deal more from
him.
"You'll do that right enough," laughed Peter, when our hero told him.
"Hank aer a troublesome feller. It ain't often that I hear of him that
he ain't been in some adventure. Jest you watch to see that he don't
drag you in too. I don't altogether trust the little varmint."
"Drat the man!" exclaimed Mrs. Strike. "Joe was a steady worker afore
he came here; but now, bless us! he's always wantin' to be off into the
wilds and forests."
And go Joe did. He worked all through the summer and autumn, helping
Peter to get in his harvest, and learning much about farming; then,
leaving Tom, the lad for whom he had fought, as Peter's man in his
place, he packed his bag and rode off with Hank on a prospecting
expedition.