ROB FINDS A RAY OF HOPE.
The meal, a sort of stew composed apparently of rabbits, partridges and
other small game, was despatched and then Rob, who had been released from
his bonds while he ate, was tied up once more.
"These fellows don't think much of breaking the game laws," he thought as
he ruminated on the contents of the big iron pot from which their
noon-day meal had been served. Then came another thought. If they so
openly violated the laws, the country was surely a lonely one, and
seldom, or never, visited. Indeed, the thick forest of hemlock and other
coniferous trees that fringed the cliff summits, would seem to indicate
that the spot was well chosen.
Jumbo was not confined. The gang seemed to esteem him as more or less
harmless for, although a sharp watch was kept on him, he was not
fettered. Once or twice he caught Rob's eye with a knowing look. But he
said nothing. One or another of the men kept too close and constant a
watch for that. And so the hours wore on. Tied as Rob was, the small
black flies and other winged mountain pests made life almost intolerable.
With infinite pains the lad dragged himself to a spot of shade under a
stunted alder bush. He lay here with something very like despair
clutching coldly at his heart. The canoes had been anchored, with big
stones attached to ropes, at some distance out in the little bay. Only
one remained on shore, and by that Jim Dale kept an unrelaxing vigil.
Jim and Peter were talking in low voices. Rob overheard enough to know
that their talk was of the old lawless days when the moonshine gang made
the hidden cove their rendezvous.
"Those were the days," Dale said with a regretful sigh, "money was plenty
then. By the way, Pete, did you ever hear what became of Black Bart and
the others after the revenues broke us up?"
"No, I never wanted to take a chance of inquiring," rejoined Peter,
puffing at a dirty corn cob. "I did hear, though, that they had resumed
operations some place around here."
"They did, eh? I suppose they figgered that lightning don't never strike
twice in the same place."
"Just the same, they are taking a long chance. With revenues against you
it's all one sided--like the handle of a jug."
"That's so. But there's good money in it, and Black Bart would risk a lot
for that."
The conversation was carried on in low tones. Rob, intent though he was,
could not catch any more of it. But he pondered over what he had heard.
If what Jim Dale and Peter had said was correct, a gang of moonshiners
still made the mountains thereabouts their habitat.
"It's a strange situation we've stumbled into," thought the boy.
Then he fell to observing Stonington Hunt and his son, Freeman. The man
and the boy were talking earnestly at some distance from Peter and Jim
Dale. From their gestures and expressions Rob made out that the
conversation was an important one. From the frequent glances which they
cast in his direction he also divined that he himself, was, in all
probability, the subject of it.
All at once Stonington Hunt arose and came toward him. Freeman followed
him. They came straight up to Rob and stood over him.
"Well, Rob Blake," sneered young Hunt, "I guess things are different to
what they were the time you drove me out of Hampton and forced my father
to profess all sorts of reformation."
"I don't know," rejoined Rob coolly and contemptuously, "you seem to me
to be very much the same sort of a chap you were then."
The inference, and Rob's unshaken manner, appeared to infuriate the
youth.
"We've got you where we want you now," he snarled, "it would serve you
right if I took all the trouble you've caused us out upon your hide. You
and that patrol of yours cost us our social position, then that Hopkins
kid lost our sloop for us----"
"The sloop in which you meant to decamp with the major's papers," put in
Rob in the same calm tones, "don't try to assume any better position than
that of a common thief, Freeman."
With a quick snarl of rage the boy jumped on the helpless and bound boy.
He brought his fist down on Rob's face with all his force. Then he
fastened his hands in Rob's hair and tugged with all his might. But
suddenly something happened. Something that startled young Hunt
considerably.
Rob gave a quick twist and despite his bonds managed to half raise
himself. In this position he gave the other lad such a terrific "butt"
that Freeman was sent staggering backward, with a white face. Unable to
regain his balance he presently fell flat on the sand. He scrambled to
his feet and seized a big bit of timber, the limb of a hemlock that lay
close at hand. He was advancing, brandishing this with the intention of
annihilating Rob when Stonington Hunt, who had hitherto been an impassive
observer, stepped between them.
"Here, here, what's all this?" he snapped angrily. "This isn't a fighting
ring. Put down that stick, Freeman, and you, young Blake, listen to me."
"I'm listening," said Rob, in the same cold, impassive way that had so
irritated Freeman.
"You want to regain your freedom and rejoin your friends, don't you?" was
the next question.
"If it can be done by honorable means--yes. But I doubt if you can employ
such, after what I've seen of you."
"Hard words won't mend matters," rejoined Hunt with a frown, "after all,
I've as much right to this hidden treasure as anyone else--if I can get
it."
"Yes, if you can get it," replied Rob with meaning emphasis, wondering
much what could be coming next.
"Your liberty depends on my getting it," resumed Hunt.
"My liberty?" echoed the boy, "how is that?"
"I want you to write a note to Major Dangerfield. He thinks a good deal
of you, doesn't he?"
"I hope so," responded Rob, mightily curious to know what Hunt was
driving at.
"He's responsible, too, in a way, for your safety, isn't he? I mean your
parents rely on him to bring you back safe and sound?"
"I suppose so. But why don't you come to the point. Tell me what it is
you want."
"Just this: You write to the major. I'll see that the note is delivered.
You must tell him to give my messenger the plan and map of the treasure's
hiding place. If he does so you will be returned safe and sound. So will
the nigger and the canoes. We didn't want that nigger anyhow. In the
darkness we mistook him for the major."
Rob could hardly repress a smile at the idea of the dignified major being
confused with the ubiquitous Jumbo.
"Are you willing to write such a letter?"
"You mean am I willing to stake my safety against the major's hopes of
recovering his relative's hidden fortune?"
"That's about it--yes."
Rob's mind worked quickly. It might be dangerous to give a direct
negative and yet he certainly would have refused to do as the rascal
opposite to him suggested.
"I--I--Can you give me time to think it over?" he hesitated, assuming
uncertainty in decision.
"Yes, I'll give you a reasonable period. But mind, no shilly-shallying.
Don't entertain any idea of escape. You'll be guarded as closely here as
if you were in a stone-walled prison."
"I know that," said Rob, feeling an inward conviction that Hunt's words
were literally true. The cliff-enclosed cove was indeed a prison. Hunt
turned away, followed by his son. The latter cast a malevolent look back
at Rob as he went.
"My! His father must be proud of that lad," thought Rob.
Hunt and his followers fell to playing cards. Rob was left to his
reflections. Jumbo sat gloomily apart and yet in full view of the card
players. After a while Rob's thoughts reverted to the conversation he had
overheard between Dale and Peter Bumpus. In this connection he suddenly
bethought himself of something. Jim Dale had spoken of the revenue
officers raiding the moonshiners' plant. If that was the case, and the
miscreants had all escaped, how did they go?
The revenue officers probably attacked the place from the lake side of
the cove. This would have effectually shut off all hope of escape in that
direction. The only conclusion left, to account for the freedom of the
gang was a startling one.
The cove must have some secret entrance or exit. If such were the case it
could only be by a passage or by steps cut in the seemingly solid rock.
Rob's heart began to beat a bit faster. There might be a chance of escape
after all, if only he could discover the means of exit he was now certain
must exist somewhere in the cove.
But a careful scrutiny failed to show any indications of such a device as
he was looking for. The walls were bare and clean as cliffs of marble.
Not more than two or three stunted conifers grew out of an occasional
crevice. The enclosing walls would not have afforded footing to a fly.
"Guess I was wrong," thought Rob to himself and lying back on the sand he
closed his eyes the better to concentrate his thoughts. But what with the
strain of the early hours and the warm, sultry atmosphere, the lad found
his ideas wandering. Presently, without knowing it, he had dropped off
into a sound slumber.
When he awoke it was with a start. The long shadows showed him that the
day was far spent. All at once voices near at hand struck in upon his
half awakened senses.
Rob heard a few words and then, with wildly beating pulses, he fell to
simulating sleep with all his might. From what he had heard of the
conversation he believed that a hope of escape lay in the words of the
talkers.