“SHOOTIN’ IRONS”
As Red Rodgers followed the girl in the dark over the narrow trail that
led away from the dock where they had discovered mysterious footprints in
the snow, he found himself climbing what seemed to him an almost
perpendicular wall. Here he stumbled over a boulder, there slipped on a
stretch of earth that appeared to stand on end, and here found himself
clawing madly in air for some form of hand-hold. That the girl knew the
trail well enough became evident at once. She reached the crest of the
ridge far in advance of him.
“Here! Give me your hand,” she breathed as he came up. “It’s not so steep
on this side. Almost not steep at all.”
Red heaved a sigh of relief, then prepared to follow on.
The trail was much longer on this side. It seemed strange, this prowling
about in the darkness on an island he knew only by name.
As his eyes became more accustomed to the darkness he made out vague
black bulks to the right and to the left. “Trees,” he told himself.
When one of these black bulks let out a low grunt and vanished into the
night, he stopped short.
“Moose,” the girl said in a low tone. “All over the island. Like the
bears of Yellowstone. That was probably old Uncle Ned.”
“Uncle Ned?”
“I’ll tell you about him some time,” she whispered.
Dense darkness lay before them. The girl plunged into this darkness, the
shadow of a narrow stretch of forest.
Red’s ears caught the low murmur of water; his gaze fell upon the white
gleam of light upon the water.
“We—we’ll go to the left. Lots of places there to hide.” Once again the
girl led the way, but not for long. Suddenly she stopped dead in her
tracks to whisper:
“See! A light!”
As Red looked he caught a yellow gleam that came filtering through the
branches.
“Wha—what shall we do now?” For the first time the girl appeared at her
wits’ end.
“That light comes from a cabin.” Red tried to think the thing out
straight. “Might be best to try for a look. Then we’ll know what we’re up
against, at least.”
Except to give him her hand the girl made no reply.
Slowly now, with pulses pounding, they made their way forward.
To the left of the trail they saw a white bulk, a cabin. They passed
another. Then suddenly he dragged the girl from the trail. An unexpected
sound had reached his ears, a dog’s bark.
“A dog!” Berley Todd shuddered. “Why would they bring a dog in the
plane?”
“To track us. No wonder they were so sure we wouldn’t get away!”
“But listen! That dog’s inside. Let’s go back while there’s a chance.”
“It can’t be ten steps farther. I’m for a look. You—you stay here.”
“Not alone.” She gripped his arm hard. “I—I’ll go.” It was she who led
now.
A dozen paces more and they stood within sight of the window through
which the light shone. And then a tall man, who was just in the act of
removing a ten gallon hat, moved in front of the light.
“Oh! It’s Ed!”
There was a melodious ring in the girl’s voice that told plainer than
words that they had found a friend.
“Ed who? Who’s Ed?” Red was puzzled by this fresh turn of affairs.
“Just Ed. A scout. He has a camp on the island in summer. Always before
he left with the rest. But now he’s here, and I’m glad!” There was a ring
of pure joy in her voice. “Now—now we are three, three of us and a dog.
Come on!” She dragged him forward. “Come on before he turns that dog
loose!”
As Berley flashed the light for an instant the boy read, above the door:
TRAILSIDE.
He wondered what that stood for. There was no time now for talk. Berley’s
hard little knuckles had made contact with the door.
The next instant they stood blinking in the light that came from the
cabin. Before them, holding his dog by the collar, was a tall, well-built
man whose graying hair said he might be forty. His face, though seamed
and tanned from constant exposure, bore the touch of eternal youth, a
heritage of those who spend their lives in wild and silent places.
For a space of seconds he stared at them. Then his face lighted with a
smile as he exclaimed:
“Why! It’s the little half-portion, Berley Todd! Put her there!” He
extended a brawny brown hand.
Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he drew back and stared.
“But—but what are you doing here at this time?”
“Came by plane,” Berley explained with a laugh. “Didn’t you hear us
arrive?”
“N-no.” The look on the guide’s face was strange to see.
“You wouldn’t of course. We came in the night.
“And this—” She pushed her companion forward. “This is the Red Rover.
You’ve heard of him, haven’t you? The famous football star, the Red
Rover?”
“Y-e-s?” The guide continued to stare. It was plain that he believed
little of that which he had just heard. And who could blame him? What
chance was there that the most famous football star of the season should
go off into a wilderness in an airplane a few days before the big game of
the year?
“It’s cold. We—we’d like to come in,” the girl pleaded.
The scout stared for ten seconds, then exclaimed:
“Beg pardon! Been a long time since any one was here. Didn’t expect to
see a soul until spring. Come in. Got a big kettle of Mulligan stew on
the stove. Big feed, what?”
“Can’t be too big for us!” said Berley, closing the door and, to the
scout’s bewilderment, turning the key in the lock, as she said quite
calmly: “I’d like to pull the shades if you don’t mind.”
“Why, yes. Just pull ’em right down.” The scout stared afresh.
“You see,” explained “the little half-portion,” dropping into a chair,
“Red, here, and I ran away. We—we don’t want any one to know we are here.
Not a soul—except, of course, you.”
“Thanks for the compliment, Miss. But I assure you there’ll not be a soul
here until spring. Do you plan to stay that long?”
The muscles of Berley’s mouth were twitching desperately. It was great
fun, this posing as the stolen bride of a famous football star, but
bottling up her mirth was quite another matter.
“Why—why, we—” She tried hard to steady her voice. “We—we haven’t made
any definite plans, have we?” She turned to Red. Then, as if a second
thought had taken possession of her, she demanded:
“Red, what did you do to that plane when you left me out on the raft at
the back of Tobin’s Harbor?”
“I took the breaker assemblies out of their magnetos.”
“Whatever that means.” She wrinkled her brow in a peculiar way.
“It means,” Red measured his words, “that they will have to send to the
factory for parts before they can fly; in other words, that they can’t
leave the island.”
“That makes it bad.” Berley seemed worried.
“For them.”
“For us. They’ll be after us night and day to get those parts back.
They’ll not leave a stone unturned. If we leave the island before they
do, they are trapped here. Even if they reached the lighthouse no one
would aid them.”
“And the officers will come here after them.” Red went on where she left
off. “My old friend, Drew Lane, will be here in his red racer. Grand
coup, I call it! A bit hazardous, but what is life but a series of
exciting adventures? If you can make those adventures count for good, why
that’s fine and dandy, I’d say.”
“It is.” Beaming, Berley put out her hand.
Then, turning to the puzzled scout, she exclaimed: “Ed, you’ve got us all
wrong. We haven’t eloped. We’ve been kidnaped, one at a time, and have
escaped together. Now Red has got to get back to the gridiron for
Saturday’s game and I to the bleachers. You are elected to help us. You
may get shot and all that, but you’ve got to come along. You’ve been
drafted.”
Understanding very little of all this, but game to the last, the scout
threw open a cupboard to drag down two huge pistols.
“Then,” he said solemnly, “it’s shootin’ irons. Inherited them from my
dad. Never had much use for ’em except to take a crack at a prowlin’
coyote now and then, but I reckon I can hit a tin can at fifty yards
mighty nigh every pop. And that’s good enough for coarse work. I’m with
you, little half-portion, with you to the end.” Then, as if she were a
child, he seized her about the waist and bumped her head against the
ceiling.
“Mulligan’s done,” he announced a moment later. “What am I really drafted
into? You’ll tell me that, won’t you, over the Mulligan stew and coffee?”