THE CABIN IN THE RAVINE
We left Garry talking with the storekeeper at Chester.
The storekeper had just described Jean LeBlanc to him as having
bought a liberal supply of provisions. That meant that the tramp had
not played them false but had given a straight tip.
Having gotten all the desired information, Garry bade the
storekeeper goodnight and hastened back to the hotel where he turned
in.
LeBlanc already had twelve hours’ start on him, and by morning it
would be a full day, but there was no use in Garry’s trying to go
further that night.
He would have a blind enough chase in broad daylight, and he needed
sleep so that he would be fresh for the hard trail ahead.
Garry woke with the dawn and sprang from his bed, determined to make
every minute that day count. He descended to breakfast, and after a
hasty meal asked the hotel owner if there was any place there where
he could hire a canoe for two or three days.
“Sure there is; right here. My boy had one that he used a lot, but
he’s working in the city now, and so it just lays there in the
boathouse doing nothing,” answered the hotel man.
Garry soon struck a bargain, and a reasonable one, and the hotel man
sent one of the loungers to show him where it was.
He unshipped the canoe from its resting place, and gave it a hasty
examination to determine whether or not it had sprung a leak
anywhere from its long disuse. It was a well-made Kennebec canoe,
however, and in sound condition.
Packing his knapsack and rifle securely in the bow, Garry took his
paddle and started out straight across the river, which was not less
than a quarter of a mile wide at this point.
On the other side, he beached his canoe, and taking one of the white
strips he had prepared, tied it to a branch, so that it was not
conspicuous but could be easily seen by anyone with whom
arrangements had been made to look for it.
Then he arranged the trail signal to show that he was going down
river. This consisted of three stones. On the largest stone he
placed a single one, and then on the ground beside it was placed one
indicating the direction he was to take.
This done, he pushed out in the river again and paddled down stream,
always keeping a sharp lookout along the banks.
At intervals of a quarter of a mile or so he would beach the canoe
and attach signals to guide his companions should there be need of
following him.
Several times he wondered if his hunch in going to the place where
the attempt to lay a railroad had been started was wise. Then he
reflected that he had no stated course to pursue, hence following a
hunch was the only thing left to do. He was sure of one fact, that
LeBlanc had come that way. Then this was the only likely place to
come.
He would hardly take a captive to the Forest Reserve; there was
always the danger that he would come upon a Ranger, and this reserve
was better patrolled than any other of the state woodlands, for the
government and not the state exercised supervision. The Rangers here
covered more ground, for Garry had been told that they were all
mounted.
On the side of the river where the town lay, there was no place
where one could hide out very successfully, for the timber growth
there was mostly hard wood, and there was constant cutting.
Straggled farms dotted that part of the country.
The only logical place, therefore, was the wild land toward which
Garry was heading. And, he figured, what more likely place to make a
start than the old railroad. One could easily follow that, and let
circumstances decide on what course to pursue as soon as the track
came to an end.
Garry judged that he had paddled about ten miles, when he came to a
bit of beach, or rather a spot where the growth had been cut away,
leaving a bare spot except for the scores of stumps that dotted the
land.
It has probably been the intention of the railroad builders to make
a slide here for the logs to be rolled into the river. Garry headed
the nose of his craft into the bank, and hauled up the canoe. Since
he had determined to trek into the forest, he had to secrete his
canoe. He cast about for a good place, and noting an extra thick
undergrowth several yards away, went to see if it was a practicable
hiding place.
Great was Garry’s surprise when he parted the underbrush and found a
birch-bark canoe already hidden there. He crawled into the thick
bushes to make a closer examination of the craft.
The thought that instantly sprang to his mind was that this was
LeBlanc’s canoe. If such was the case, Garry determined that it
should be put out of commission.
Still, supposing it belonged to some of the boys that lived on the
other side of the river? In that case the destruction of the canoe
would be rather a mean trick to play.
Garry looked into the canoe and found some trash left there. This
appeared to be paper in which parcels had been wrapped, and seemed
to have been only lately discarded. Looking closer, he noted the
twine that was used. It was a cheap twine composed of red and white
strands intermixed.
Immediately Garry remembered that this was the sort of twine used by
the storekeeper with whom he had talked the night before, and who
had told him of selling supplies to a man that answered the
description of the halfbreed.
Garry reflected that it was better to be safe than be sorry, and
determined to disable the canoe. In case it was the halfbreed’s, all
well and good. If it was that of some of the boys, he could leave
word with the hotel man and the storekeeper that he would make good
the damage.
There was something else to be considered. Should he disable the
canoe and should LeBlanc come back, would it not immediately give
warning that he was being tracked, and cause him to turn in his
tracks and trace his pursuer?
Garry gave the matter several minutes’ thought, and then the idea
occurred to him. He could disable the canoe by puncturing the
innumerable “eyes” that are frequent in birch bark—the little
places where a branch would later pierce though.
Hastily he took his pocket knife, one of the Scout knives that was
equipped with several tools, among them being a sharp instrument
that could be used as a brad awl.
Working speedily, he plunged it through all the eyes he could find.
This would cause the canoe to leak, and make it useless as a craft.
There is only one way to fix this, and that is one that requires a
great deal of time. It consists of making a slashwise cut in the
bark through the “eye” and sealing this down with hot pitch. The
damage that Garry had done would take a good while to repair
properly, and if it was LeBlanc’s canoe, it might hinder him in
making an escape at some time.
The easy manner in which he found LeBlanc’s canoe was a warning to
him. He carefully obliterated all traces of having been there, and
returned to his canoe. Getting aboard again, he paddled down the
river about a hundred yards, till he came to a rocky bank. There he
succeeded in bringing his canoe up on to the land, and as the growth
was thick here also, had no trouble in finding a perfect place of
concealment.
This done, he scrambled through the undergrowth back to the spot
where he had first landed. Hitching up his knapsack, and looking to
his rifle, he set off into the woods. The track had been laid for
some little distance, and piles of ties lay along the track. After a
matter of perhaps half a mile, the trackage ceased, and from there
on was only a trail marked by the triangular stick such as surveyors
use to mark out the particular line that their engineering matter
requires.
Garry knew now that extreme caution was required. Provided LeBlanc
had come this way, there was every possibility that he might be
returning over the same route.
For a matter of two miles Garry walked, peering ahead of him, and
straining his ears to catch the slightest sound.
Finally he came to a little natural clearing in the midst of the
brush and trees, and saw ashes. Someone has made a campfire there,
and not very long ago, either. Woodsmen can always tell within a
short time, just how long since a fire has been used. It is almost
impossible to describe, and can only be done intuitively or by long
practice.
Garry decided that this fire had been built not more than a day ago,
and a tin tomato can that had been thrown to one side, had barely
corroded from exposure to the elements.
He was on the trail, but where did it lead? And was it made by the
quarry he was seeking?
He glanced at his watch and saw that it was almost eleven o’clock,
the hour when he had promised to open his receiving station and wait
for a message from his chums. He decided that this was as good a
spot as any, and unpacked the apparatus from his knapsack, adjusting
and extending the rods from which his aerial could hang.
As he looked about for a good place to stand his rod, he caught a
glint of something bright in the tangled grass near him.
He bent and picked it up, and was amazed to find that it was a small
gold locket. Hastily he opened it, and there staring at him from the
two compartments, were pictures of Ruth and her grandfather!
Garry almost shouted with glee. They had come this way, and the next
step was to determine in which direction they had gone.
That, however, must wait for a moment, for he wanted his chums to
know that he was safe, and hence must wait for a time for a message
from them.
But when he spread out his apparatus, a pang struck him. Part of the
detector, the most essential part of the receiving apparatus, was
missing!
Garry examined it closely and saw that it had been broken; and when
he took thought, he remembered the haste in which the boys had
packed their knapsacks, his among them, when they left the lumber
camp some days before.
Inwardly the boy berated himself for his stupidity in setting out on
this search without first seeing that all his apparatus was in
perfect order.
The detector, sometimes known to users of the radio as a “cat’s
whisker,” is a thin wire with a point attached to it, extending from
the sounding posts to a piece of galena or silicon. This detector is
used for this reason: The voice waves that are sent out through a
radio transmitter are too faint to be heard by the human ear unaided
by a mechanical apparatus.
The detector or “whisker” is moved about on the silicon until it
strikes a sensitive spot, and in this way the air waves are brought
into proper tune, and may be heard through the receiving ’phones.
Attached to the end of the wire that is fixed to the baseboard is
either a point, welded to the brass wire that leads to the cup
holding the galena crystals, or else a point is carefully fashioned
on the end of the wire to the same sharpness as a needle.
In the case of Garry’s detector, both the point and the entire wire
were missing.
Somehow he must fix this, else his friends would immediately set out
in search of him, and that perhaps at a time when they had important
work to do at Hobart concerning the mission they had embarked on.
But how was he to repair a part of a radio telephone, that most
delicate instrument, while he was out here in the wilds? It would be
a hard enough task in the village, for there were no stores where
radio equipment could be bought.
Garry, however, was not one to give up hopelessly on anything. He
set his wits to work to think up some way in which the detector
could be fixed. A search of his knapsack revealed nothing that could
be substituted for the original whisker.
He knew enough about the apparatus to know what would be needed.
First there was a piece of brass wire, and that must be sharpened to
a needle point.
As he thought of the words “needle point,” he was struck by a
brilliant idea, and gave a soft whoop at the thought that it might
work.
In his knapsack was a small “housewife” that his mother had given
him just before he set out for the big woods at the start of the
summer. He resurrected this, and from it drew a large needle.
There was part of the battle won, but there were still two other
necessary things to obtain. One was the brass wire, and the other
was a method of welding or soldering it to the needle.
He rummaged through his belongings, in the vain hope of finding some
bit of wire that would answer the purpose, but could find nothing.
Desperately he glanced at his watch. It was already twenty minutes
after eleven, and the boys were probably trying vainly to talk with
him.
As he looked at his watch, a thought struck him.
Presto; here was the brass wire. It would mean sacrificing the use
of his watch for a time, but that could be easily dispensed with. He
unscrewed the back of his watch, and ruthlessly took out the
mainspring, which was a small coil of thin brass, not a wire
exactly, but something that would answer the purpose just as well.
His screw driver that he carried in the knapsack was too clumsy for
such work as tinkering with a watch, so he used the point of his
knife blade instead.
Getting the mainspring out was a matter of a few seconds only. Now
remained only to think of some ingenious way to solder the brass
coil to the needle. In his search through the knapsack he had thrown
much of the contents on the ground near him, and in looking these
over, in the search for inspiration, his eyes lighted on his fishing
tackle.
There was the final thing needed. From the tackle book, where he
kept his flies, he undid a little flap that covered a pocket, and
drew out a split lead sinker. This was just what he needed for
soldering the coil to the needle.
With his pliers he bent the end of the coil tightly about the center
of the needle, and widening the split in the shot with his knife,
slipped it over the needle where it was held to the brass coil.
Using the handle of his knife, he carefully pounded the sinker until
it held of its own accord. Soldering was now a simple matter.
Garry lighted a small fire, and when the dry branches had burned to
coals, thrust the screwdriver into the glowing bed.
“That spoils a good screwdriver,” thought Garry, “but at least it’s
in a good cause.”
As any boy knows that has ever used tools, heating a screwdriver, if
it is a good one, ruins the temper and makes it easy to break when
struggling with a refractory screw.
As soon as the blade had gotten sufficiently heated, he applied it
quickly to the lead sinker and caused it to melt and fuse around the
needle. Two or three applications of the hot screwdriver were
necessary before the job could be called complete, and then Garry
sat back and surveyed his work with satisfaction.
Now remained only the biggest question of all. Would this crude
contrivance work? Garry felt that it would, since it followed in
principle the theory of the detector.
The quickest way to find out if it was workable, of course, was to
try it out, and this he immediately did.
Noting that all the rest of the radio outfit was in good condition,
he adjusted the headpieces and tuned up back and forth over the
tuning coil to get the proper range. Soon he heard frequent buzzes
in the receivers and knew that everything was all right. Now came
the crucial test of the detector. He moved the needle point around
on the silicon and soon was rewarded by getting the proper
induction, and distinctly heard a voice. The forest-made detector
worked!
The voicing was chanting over and over again:
“Boone, Garry Boone. Calling Garry Boone.”
Garry laughed to himself as he thought how much it sounded like a
bellboy in a hotel paging one of the guests.
Turning to his sender he called.
“Boone talking.”
This he repeated at intervals, and after a few minutes, in which he
divined that Phil and Dick were probably working their tuning coil,
he established connection.
But the connection was faulty, and he was afraid that at any moment
the detector would fail to work. So he called briefly:
“Have found a clue to Ruth and am on her trail. Am safe. Tell Mr.
Everett everything is coming out O. K. What news have you?”
From the other end came this startling, to Garry, news:
“Simmons arrested this morning, and——”
Then all became silent. Only an indistinct buzzing came into the
receivers. He worked his tuning coil back and forth, but brought no
results. Then he tried switching the “cat’s whisker” to another spot
on the cup of silicon, and found that this, too, was futile.
Something had evidently gone wrong with his apparatus. So after a
few minutes more of vain attempt to establish connection again, he
gave it up as a bad job.
However, the vital thing had been accomplished. He had informed his
chums that he was safe, thereby freeing their minds from worry, and
he knew that they were on the job at their end. Also his message
would prove of great cheer to Ruth’s grandfather and Aunt Abbie.
He could not, of course, understand what his friends had meant by
Simmons being arrested. Simmons was the postal inspector, and should
be making arrests, rather than be subject to seizure himself.
There was no use, though, in racking his head to try and puzzle out
the situation. There was still the important part of his work ahead
of him.
He felt hungry and decided to make a hasty meal before going any
further. He produced from his supplies enough stuff for a cold
lunch, and was wondering if it would be worth while to search for a
few minutes for a spring.
Garry figured that five minutes could make no great difference, and
looking around for moist ground that would denote the proximity of a
spring, advanced a short distance into the woods. He had not gone
far when he heard the murmur of water, and pushing ahead, came to a
fair-sized brook.
Quickly he noted that there were footprints on the soft bit of
shore, and bent to examine them. After some scrutiny he could make
out distinctly at least three sets of prints. One set seemed to be
made by moccasins, for the prints were blurred and indistinct, and
another set was evidently left there by some man who wore a pair of
shoes with heels.
What made Garry’s heart beat quickly, was the sight of the third set
of prints that were of a certainty made by a girl.
The two sets of male footprints of course denoted two men, and since
it was a foregone conclusion that the moccasined walker was LeBlanc,
Garry wondered who his companion could be.
He searched about for more prints in an endeavor to find which way
the tracks led, but they soon broke back onto the hard ground,
covered with countless thousands of pine needles and spears from the
spruce trees.
He was about to give up the search and debate with himself as to
what course to pursue, when he saw, lying among the pine needles, a
dress button.
Garry seized it eagerly. It looked like an ornamental button from a
waist or dress. Since it lay some little distance from where he had
found the footprints, it must mean that the girl and her captor had
come this way.
It was new looking, and was undoubtedly dropped there not very long
before the time he found it. Had it been there for some time it
would show it had been exposed to the rain and ground.
Filling his collapsible bucket with water, he hurried back, and
having made his coffee, hastily ate his meal. The wireless was then
dismantled and along with the other contents of the knapsack
repacked quickly.
Shouldering his knapsack, and stamping out the remains of the fire,
also removing, as far as possible, any trace of having eaten at the
spot, Garry made his way back to the place he had found the button.
The discovery had shaped his course for him. It was probable that
the trail led up the brook. If LeBlanc had some hideout in the
woods, what was more natural than having it near a brook, both for
the fact that it was a supply of water and a place where a certain
amount of food could be obtained, since Garry, with an angler’s
instinct, had mentally decided that the brook abounded in fat trout.
The final reason for believing this to be the proper trail lay in
the fact that it was less brushy and thick along the bank of the
brook, making it easier walking. Garry walked along for some
distance, keeping his eyes glued to the ground in the hope of
finding “sign” of some sort to show that his quarry had passed that
way.
With a muffled exclamation he bent to the ground and picked
up—another button.
Carefully comparing it with the other, he found them to be exactly
alike. Then it dawned on him that Ruth in some manner must have been
able to detach them from her clothing and was dropping them for the
purpose of leaving a trail behind her.
Garry wondered if the locket might not also have been purposely
dropped with the same idea in view. The discovery made him hasten
his steps, and he fairly tore off yard after yard. The walking was
none too easy, for it was not the soft flooring of the forest such
as he had patrolled on his father’s land. Here the way was rough and
uneven, and as he walked he noted that the grade tended to rise, and
thought it would shortly get into hilly country.
Sometime later he found a third, and then a fourth button. After
that he found no more. Each time that he had made a discovery, he
had marked the spot carefully and made short detours from the path,
to see if at any time the party had turned off.
This had naturally taken a great deal of precious time, and peering
up into the sky through the branches of the trees, he discovered
that he could not see the sun, and judged that it must be at least
five in the afternoon.
Garry had gone nearly two miles after finding the last button, and
since he could find no more, wondered if he had lost the trail. By
the time he stopped to consider this, he found he was at the
beginning of a sharp rise in the ground, and figured that he was at
the foot of a hill. A few minutes’ hard walking convinced him of the
truth of this thought, and he came to what was evidently the top of
a high knoll or hill.
There was one thing left to do, and that was to climb a tree and
sweep the surrounding country through his glasses in the hope of
finding a clue. The brook which he had been following stopped at a
spring almost at the top of the little hill. This spring naturally
was the source of the brook, which likely ended in the Penocton
River.
He selected the highest tree he could find, and since the branches
did not begin for some feet from the ground, had recourse to the
method he and his chums used.
This consisted of taking a long piece of cord, or better still a
stout wire, and circling it around his person and the tree. By
alternately lifting this and bracing his heels against the tree, he
was able to edge himself up inch by inch till he could reach one of
the branches.
From then on climbing was a simple matter. He reached the top of the
tree, going as high as he dared before it would bend with his
weight. He had shown wisdom in picking the particular tree he had,
for it towered above its fellows for several feet.
Garry found he had a good view of the country around him. He was
surprised to note that he had made a considerable climb without
noticing how great it was, for although he was conscious while
walking that he was on rising ground, he had no idea that the
gradient was so steep. To one side he could see a little depression,
and then a sharp rise that led to a series of ever mounting hills.
At another point there was a depression as though some ravine
existed there. He watched this spot fixedly for some minutes, for
the sun was just dropping over the horizon, and the vicinity was not
perfectly visible. Then he gave a sharp exclamation. Rising from the
ravine, or depression, or whatever it was, was a thin spiral of
smoke, that grew a little thicker after he had watched it for some
moments.
He fished in his pocket and drew out his compass, noted the exact
point from which the smoke seemed to come, and then made haste to
descend the tree, scratching his hands in his hurry to get to the
bottom.
He got to the ground by “bending” one of the limbs. This is a simple
matter, as nearly every boy knows. It consists of crawling out on
one of the branches until the weight of the body begins to pull it
toward the earth. The farther one goes the nearer the earth comes to
the limb, until one can drop off and let the limb fly back to its
original position.
Calculating the direction by referring to the compass, he set off in
the direction of the place from which he had seen the smoke
emanating.
While in the treetop he had estimated that it must lay almost a mile
away, and the going was hard. The brush was tangled and thick, and
the ground rocky. Where there were scattered rocks, the roots of the
trees projected as though coming in search of nourishment that was
denied them in the rocky soil.
Here and there he noted places where the brush had evidently been
torn away to allow some one to pass through.
After almost an hour of tiresome toil, he approached a little
clearing, and then became exceedingly cautious and wary. He could
see that there was a slight ravine there, with an entrance between
two great rocks.
Creeping to this entrance he peered in, and saw that a crude shack
had been erected at one end. He must approach the shack without
knowing who was in it, or how many might be there. He divested
himself of his knapsack, sticking it in back of a pile of brush, so
that should anyone approach, they would not be warned of the
presence of a stranger.
Then with his rifle grasped firmly in his hand, he walked slowly and
noiselessly to the door of the shack. He half expected to be
challenged by LeBlanc before he could reach the door.
No one halted his approach, however, and he came up to the door. It
was half ajar, and holding his rifle so that he could instantly
cover anyone, he threw open the door.
There he saw a sight that made his heart leap.
In one corner of the shack was Ruth, tied hand and foot, and a dirty
rag stuffed in her mouth for a gag. In addition to the bonds on her
wrists and ankles, she was tied to a projecting log.
He ran over to the girl, whipping his knife from his pocket as he
did so.
It was the work of a moment only to cut the bonds that tied her and
release the gag from her mouth. Ruth let him free her, and then
stood erect for a moment, and being only a girl, dropped over in a
dead faint.
The inside of the cabin was nearly dark, and he was searching about
wildly to see if there was any water within, when he heard a muffled
groan from another corner.
Garry ran to the corner and was astonished to see that a man, tied
and gagged in the same manner that Ruth had been, was lying there.
The boy hesitated for a moment before releasing him, and then
reflected that he could not be inimical since such drastic measures
had been taken to render him helpless.
His indecision was only momentary, and then with a few swift strokes
of his knife, he freed the man.
The stranger rose weakly to his feet, and for a moment could not be
understood. Garry thought that he must have been gagged for some
little time, as his thick speech indicated that his tongue was
probably swollen.
“Guess you came just about in time,” he finally managed to utter.
“From the looks of things here you’re right,” answered Garry. “But
who are you?”
Then came the astonishing answer:
“Name’s Simmons. I’m a United States postal inspector!”