“WE MUST ESCAPE”
“We must find some way of escape.”
The girl’s tone, low, mellow, earnest, was scarcely more than a whisper.
“But we are upon an island within an island. Or did that man lie to you?”
“He did not lie.”
“What then?”
“We can do but one thing at a time. We must escape. And after that—” She
did not finish.
The boy found it difficult, this discussing plans with one he could not
see, had never seen.
“I could soon cut a small hole between two logs,” he told himself.
He thought of suggesting this, but considered it better to wait.
He set about planning their escape methodically. The staple that held the
padlock to his door was large. It was clinched on the inside. By working
first with a nail pulled out of the wall, then a bit of wire, he managed
to straighten these points. Then, little by little, without sound, he
pushed the staple back until only the points showed.
“Two or three good yanks and the door will fly open,” he confided to the
girl.
“But mine? How are we to manage it?”
Red pondered this problem. He could, he told himself, pass his crude
instruments through to her. But were her fingers strong enough for the
task? He doubted this.
He studied the wall that lay between them. He was at a loss to account
for this wall, which had, from all appearances, stood there for some
years. Then it occurred to him that a trapper had built the cabin, using
one room for himself, the other for his dogs. Campers of a later date had
doubtless cleared up the dogs’ kennel and made a bunk room of it without
removing the partition.
“But this partition,” he whispered excitedly, “is not notched into the
cabin wall. The logs were merely laid up, one upon another, then a white
birch pole spiked in each corner to hold them into position. Once the
poles are removed, the logs may be taken down.”
“And then?” the girl breathed.
“Your room will be mine and mine yours.”
“Until they discover.”
“They will not discover. We will not remove the logs until the hour set
for our escape. When they discover the cage door open, the birds will
have flown.”
It was with strangely mixed feelings that Red began the task of removing
the white birch poles which held the logs in place. Until that moment the
girl had seemed quite remote, one living in another world, a rich man’s
daughter. But as the last spike yielded and the last pole stood leaning
lightly in its place, as he realized that the logs that lay between them
could be removed as easily as stones are piled or grain shocked, he
became conscious of a new sort of comradeship such as he had experienced
with none other.
“We are in for it,” he breathed, “for better or for worse.”
“For better or for worse,” came the girl’s faint answer. “And, oh, I’m
sure it is for better than we dare dream.”
“Only one thing could be truly good: to get back to Soldiers’ Field on
time.” Red thought this, but he did not say it.
With the preparations all made there remained but to wait. To one of
Red’s nature, this was hardest of all. He was ever for action.
“But we must wait,” he said to the log wall before him, in tones loud
enough for the girl’s ears. “The guard will be on the alert early in the
night. Later he will relax his vigil.”
“Yes, yes. We must wait!” came from the other side of the wall.
“I’m putting out my light, retiring for the night.” These words, ending
in a subdued laugh, came from behind the wall half an hour later, telling
Red that for the eyes of the guard she had retired for the night.
“Retired for the night,” Red thought soberly. “Wonder when we will
retire, and where?”
As he thought of the cold black waters of this inland bay, a mental
picture of his own form, lying ten fathoms deep where the fishes play,
came to him. He saw his hands waved about by the currents. Then with a
shudder he shook himself free from the illusion.
Fifteen minutes later he too “retired for the night.” After that, with
the cabin shrouded in darkness, he sat and listened to the sounds of the
night.
Curious sounds they were to one who knew nothing of wild life; the
shrill, long-drawn whistle of some bird calling to his mate; the throaty
call of a bull moose from down the bay, and that piercing scream of the
loon, never failing to set his blood running cold.
He thought he caught the sound of footsteps. The guard! What if he
appeared and discovered all that had been done? He listened long for a
rattle at the lock, but none came.
At last, standing erect, he stretched himself like a cat, then said in a
hoarse whisper:
“I’m taking down the wall.”
In absolute silence he lifted the birch poles from their places. He put a
hand to the topmost log. It did not yield to his pull.
“Spiked on the other side.”
He tried the second one.
“Ah!”
It came away. Without a sound he placed it at his feet. A second, a
third, fourth, fifth. Still no sound.
An opening three feet wide now lay before him. He put out a hand. It
touched some one. Groping about, he found the girl’s hand, then guided
her through the opening.
“It is strange,” he thought. “I have never seen this person. Is she dark
or fair, beautiful or ugly?”
One or two things he could know. She was short and rather plump. Her
muscles were hard. He was surprised at this. He had supposed that rich
men’s daughters were always soft and white.
He drew the girl to a place on the bench beside him. She was trembling.
As her shoulder pressed against his, he felt the wild beating of her
heart. This would never do. She must be calm.
As for his own feelings, he had gone cold all over, just as he had at the
beginning of every gridiron battle.
“Warm enough when time comes for action,” he told himself. It had always
been that way.
The time for action had not yet come. They continued to listen there in
the dark; a boy and a girl; the girl kidnaped for ransom which she
refused to assist in collecting, the boy carried away and held for he
knew not what.
The ticking of their watches sounded loud in this lonely place. Water
lapped on the shore. From time to time there came a low bump-bump.
“Rowboat tied to the dock,” Red whispered to the girl. “Wonder if we
could get it?”
She made no reply.
From somewhere back in the forest a hoot owl began his silly noise. Red
did not know what it was. He asked the girl about it. She explained
briefly.
“Hope he keeps it up,” he sighed. “Cover up any little nasty sounds we
may stir up.”
“Will there be noises?” The girl seemed to shrink. Then suddenly her form
stiffened. “Count me in on—on anything. They are dirty dogs, these
kidnapers; deserve the worst!”
“Yes, the very worst!” Red agreed.
He felt loath to leave this place of warmth and momentary peace. There
was something altogether agreeable about being so near to this girl he
had never seen. “Well, the zero hour approaches.”
“Yes.” She sprang to her feet. “Let’s make it now!”
“Now it is.”
He rose to stand beside her. So for one full moment, side by side in the
dark, they stood.
At last, with a long-drawn sigh, he seized her hand to lead her out into
the night.