Five distinct parties were engaged in searching for the missing child,
Ruth Spellman. Hoke Butler and his companions had left the bungalow on
foot, because there was not room in the two canoes for them. Knowing
nothing of the cause of the doctor’s appeal for help, they made no hunt
until, when the greater part of the distance was passed, they met Mike
Murphy and his friends. These had advanced at a slower pace, for they
were hunting for that which they dreaded to find, and they meant to
neglect nothing.
When the two parties came together, a brief explanation made everything
clear. Inasmuch as the larger part of the beach to the eastward had not
been examined, it was agreed that the coalesced companies should return
at a slower pace to the bungalow, and then, if nothing resulted, reverse
and push the search all the way to the house of Doctor Spellman. This
would be covering the ground twice, and it would be done effectively.
“Do you think she has been drowned?” asked Hoke of Mike.
“I do not, for it’s unraisinable that she should be. The Sunbeam is
afeard of the water and would not step into it. If there was a dock or a
pile of rocks where she could have fell off, she might have done the
same, but there’s nothing of the kind, and the little one couldn’t have
slipped into the lake while walking along the shore.”
It may be said that this theory was accepted by every one except the
parents and they were inclined toward it. It was their anguish of
anxiety which warped their reasoning and made them fear at times that
that precious form was drifting in the embrace of the chilling waters,
and would never again respond to their loving caresses.
While scrutinizing every foot of the way, each member of the two parties
scanned the moonlit lake, as far as the vision extended, urged by a
fearful fascination that scattered cold reasoning to the winds.
Suddenly Hoke Butler, who was slightly in the lead, stopped short,
pointed out on the water and asked in a startled undertone:
“Isn’t something floating out there?”
All grouped about the speaker and peered in the direction he indicated.
“Ye’re right,” whispered Mike, swallowing the lump in his throat; “can
it be Sunbeam?”
The surface of the lake was as placid as a millpond. Barely a hundred
feet from shore a motionless object was seen floating, but it was so low
that for a time it could not be identified.
“I’m thinking,” added Mike, “that she would not float for a day or two,
but bide ye here till I swim out and make sartin.”
He began hastily disrobing, but before he was ready for the plunge Hoke
exclaimed:
“It’s the branch of a tree.”
Now that the assertion was made, all saw that it was true. The identity
of a limb with its foliage was so evident that they wondered how even a
momentary mistake had occurred. The advance was resumed, and in the
course of the following hour the boys reached the bungalow, where Jack
Crandall was seated on the piazza with his crutch leaning beside him. It
need not be said that he was shocked beyond expression by the news.
“How I wish I were able to join in the search,” he lamented, “but I can
only sit here and wait and pray for you.”
“Do you think it likely she has been drowned?” Hoke asked.
“No; and yet it is possible. She may have slipped while walking on the
edge and a child like her is so helpless that it would be all over in a
minute or so. Keep up your hunt until she is found and don’t forget to
scan every part of the lake you can see.”
Jack made no reference to Biggs and Hutt, the tramps, for he knew very
little about them. Mike, like his intimate friends, had them continually
in mind, but the same strange dread that for a time restrained them,
held his lips mute. He did not want to believe they had had any hand in
Sunbeam’s disappearance, and yet the conviction was growing upon him
that they had kidnapped and would hold her for ransom.
“And if the same proves true,” he muttered with the old glint in his
eye, “it’s mesilf and the rest of the byes that will do the biggest kind
of a good turn consarning the spalpeens.”
For the second time the beach leading from the bungalow eastward to the
temporary home of Doctor Spellman was traversed, and the search if
possible was made more rigid than before. With so many at work, a number
tramped through the woods bordering on the open space, though that
seemed useless since in the gloom their eyes were of little help. They
did not forget to call the name of the lost one, Mike taking upon
himself this duty. He used her right name as well as those by which he
and other friends knew her, and his clear voice penetrated so far into
the still arches that it was heard by other searchers who, though they
shouted as loud, were not audible to him and his companions.
Gradually they approached the desolate home, arriving there about
midnight. They had not come upon the slightest clue and no one was found
in the house, nor was any light burning. All were pretty tired, for the
tramp was a long one, but they were as ardent as ever to do their utmost
to find the missing child.
“There’s no use in going back to the bungalow,” said Mike, as the group
gathered in the little clearing; “it strikes me we may as well turn into
the woods.”
It must have been about this time that the searching party which had
gone to the westward completed the circumvallation and joined Jack
Crandall seated on the piazza,—listening, watching and praying that all
might be well with the lost child. These boys had been as painstaking
and thorough as Mike and his friends, and were equally unsuccessful. Not
the faintest light upon the mystery had come to them.
“I don’t think it possible she took that direction, unless it may have
been for a short distance, for there was nothing to attract her thither.
In visiting us she was always brought across the lake, though I heard
her father say they had followed the beach once or twice. The distance
is less.”
“We fellows can’t go to bed,” said Colgate Craig, “until the little one
is found.”
“You have had a long tramp and must be pretty tired.”
“That has nothing to do with it,” said Robert Snow sturdily; “we’ll keep
it up all night, if there’s the least chance of it doing any good.”
“The trouble is,” said Jack, who had learned the particulars of what had
been done from Mike Murphy, “Mr. Hall has made no plans beyond what all
of you were to do first. You with Mike’s party have gone round the lake,
and a part of the distance—the most promising as it seems to me—has
been covered twice.”
“Do you think there is any use of our retracing our steps?”
“Not the slightest; wherever Ruth may be found, it will not be in that
direction.”
“Where do you advise us to go?”
“Follow Mike’s party; that will be the third time the ground has been
traversed.”
“What do you think has become of Sunbeam, as Mike calls her?”
“It seems to me she has strayed only a little way from home, grown
weary, sat down to rest and fallen asleep.”
The counsel of Jack Crandall was followed. Thus the major part of the
searchers were soon pushing through the woods in the neighborhood of
Doctor Spellman’s home. It will be recalled that he, his wife and Scout
Master Hall, set about this task upon the first breaking up of the Boy
Scouts to prosecute their separate lines of work. Although they parted
company directly after leaving the others, the three kept in touch with
one another, and after a time husband and wife joined, with Mr. Hall
just far enough away to be invisible.
The Scout Master left it to the parents of Ruth to call to her. They did
this at brief intervals, and they did not listen more intently for the
reply which came not than did he. When an hour had been used without
result, the three came together in a small open space lighted by the
moon.
The mother, although distressed beyond description, was become more
composed.
“What do you think, Mr. Hall?” she wearily asked.
“I judge that, like all healthy children, Ruth is a sound sleeper. What
more likely than that when worn out, she has lain down on the leaves
like another Babe in the Wood, and will not open her eyes until morning?
Am I not right, Doctor?”
“Undoubtedly, provided she has been permitted to do as you say.”
“I do not understand you.”
“What is the use of our keeping silent, when the same fear is in all our
hearts?”
“I still fail to catch your meaning.”
“Wife, and you, and I believe she has been kidnapped by those tramps.”
The mother gave a gasp and low moan. Covering her face with her hands,
she sobbed:
“That’s what I have feared from the first.”
“I cannot deny that the dread has been with me,” said the Scout Master,
“yet I have hoped and still hope we are mistaken.”
“I see no room for such hope.”
“But, even if so, it should be an immeasurable relief. It means that she
has not fallen into the lake, nor is she in danger from a night’s
exposure.”
“But think of her being in the power of those hideous creatures,” wailed
the mother.
“If they have stolen her it is for the purpose of ransom. They will take
the utmost care that not the slightest harm befalls her, since it would
defeat their scheme.”
“And this is the twentieth century!” was the bitter exclamation of the
physician. “If the probability occurred to you and me, why did we not
take steps to baffle them instead of wasting our time in groping through
the darkness of the woods?”
“I did do so.”
“Now it is I who do not understand.”
“Two of the fleetest of the Boy Scouts,—Alvin Landon and Chester
Haynes,—are at this moment making all haste to the village of Bovil, on
the road to Boothbay Harbor. If they can reach a telephone, they will
communicate with officers in the surrounding towns and villages, asking
for the arrest of the tramps on sight. Those boys will not waste a
minute.”
“Thank heaven for that.”
“Furthermore, at the earliest moment they will ’phone your nephew, and
you need not be told that he and his dog Zip will be equally quick in
getting on the job.”
“_That_ gives me more hope than anything that has happened since my
child disappeared,” was the declaration of Doctor Spellman, whose wife
shared in the pleasurable thrill.