Curly found himself, hatless, and with two letters and a scrap of paper
clasped in one hand, running swiftly toward that portion of the
riverbank where stood the Bainbridge mill. What he could accomplish
alone and unaided was a question which troubled him vaguely. He meant,
at least, to give the best that was in him toward fighting a calamity he
might have prevented if only he had kept his wits about him.
Presently he slackened his pace a little, and a puzzled wrinkle came
into his forehead. There was not the slightest glare to be seen in the
direction of the mill. It seemed odd that a fire in such a place should
not show itself sooner. He hurried on a little farther, but still there
was no sign of fire--no noise or scurrying of people. At length,
reaching the fence which surrounded mill and lumber yards, he paused,
wondering in which direction lay the nearest gate. A second later, half
turning, he saw the glow and sparks from a burning building rising above
the leafless trees at least a mile away.
“Gee!” he muttered, in a tone of relief. “I’m sure glad I was fooled.
For a bit I thought it was all up, but now mebbe I kin put a crimp in
their game.”
He stood silent for a minute or two, turning the matter over in his
mind. There were difficulties which had not occurred to him at first. If
he went to Bainbridge or to the authorities with his discovery, Bill
would be sure to pay the penalty. He was not anxious for this. He did
not want to mix his brother up in the affair if it were possible to keep
his name out of it. If he could only see Bill he felt sure he could make
him cut it all and get out of the country. But that was the trouble--to
find him and do it quickly. Where had he gone this night of all others?
What was keeping him away so long? Was it possible, after all, that the
burning _had_ been planned for to-night, but planned to take place
later?
The interior of the inclosure seemed very quiet and peaceful, yet Curly
felt a fresh stab of apprehension when presently he discovered the big
gate unlocked and ajar. After a momentary hesitation he pushed the gate
still farther open, and, slipping through, closed it behind him, and
crept, ghostlike, along in the shadow of the fence.
Ahead loomed the mill buildings, velvet-black shadows against a
blue-black sky. To his left lay great stacks of manufactured lumber
worth many thousand dollars. He could not see them now, but he knew
their location, and the thought of all that property going up in smoke
made him scowl fiercely, and clench his fists in the darkness.
Presently he stopped abruptly as the blackness was pierced by a single
gleam of light from the corner of the shadowy building. The next instant
he gave a relieved chuckle. It came from the watchman’s shanty, of
course. That was where it stood, close by the corner of the main
building.
Everything was so quiet and peaceful that it seemed futile to go any
farther, yet somehow the man wanted to make sure. Finally he decided to
gain this end by giving the watchman a tip about the gate.
Crossing the open space, he stepped to the window, and peered through
the dingy glass. The shack seemed empty; the lighted lantern stood on a
rough table from which a straight deal chair was pushed back. Yet, in
spite of this, Curly could not be quite certain, so he reached for the
latch and thrust the door open.
It was not empty. Some one--something was there, a huddled mass lying
face down in the corner. With a quick gasp of horror and alarm, Curly
straightened and whirled round.
Too late! Something heavy struck his head and pitched him, dazed,
against the wall of the shanty. He threw out both hands toward the
shadows he could barely see, and from his lips came a hoarse cry of
mingled pain and fury. A second blow beat through his guard, and
stretched him senseless on the ground.
The coming around seemed to Curly merely a matter of seconds; really it
must have been much longer. When he recovered enough of his senses to
make mental notes he discovered that he was lying flat on the
sawdust-covered floor near a big circular saw that gleamed like
burnished silver. He was bound round and round with ropes, unable to
move hand or foot. A lighted lantern made a bright spot in the intense
gloom, dimly revealing above him the heavy beams and rafters of the
mill. After a little he saw, sitting on the other side of the lantern, a
man who gazed steadily at him, and whose face, even in the shadows,
seemed familiar. A moment later he realized that the man was John Joyce.
The discovery was not a pleasant one. Joyce and he had been enemies for
a considerable time, owing mainly to the fact that both were paying
attentions to a certain young woman who showed decided partiality for
Kollock. In a moment of passion Joyce had sworn to “get” Curly, and the
latter had jeered at him. He did not jeer now. The best he could do was
to summon a forced smile.
“You’ll grin out o’ the other side of your mouth afore I git done with
you, you spyin’ scum,” observed the red-haired individual acrimoniously.
“What are you doin’ here?”
“None o’ your business!” retorted Kollock promptly. “Where’s Bill?”
“Better keep a civil tongue in your head,” snarled Joyce. “How come you
sneakin’ around this mill to-night? Who put you wise to what’s goin’
on?”
Possessed of only a small fund of diplomacy, Curly saw a chance to make
his enemy writhe, and at once took it, regardless of all other
considerations.
“Never you mind who put me wise,” he retorted. “I’m on, all right. I
know you’re goin’ to set fire to the mill to-night, an’, what’s more, I
know who put you up to it--see? Git that through your dome? I’ve got
evidence stowed away--in a safe place, too--that’ll send somebody to
Thomaston Prison for a nice little bit. Get me?”
All of this was not strictly true, but the young riverman could not pass
up the chance to make Joyce shiver. A moment later he more than
regretted the impulse.
“Little Johnny-on-the-spot, ain’t you?” snarled the red-headed man, when
he had partially recovered from the shock. “You made a nice bull,
though, exposin’ your cards before the show-down.”
His jaws came together with a snap, and, rising suddenly to his feet, he
dropped on one knee beside Curly. In another second he had thrust a lump
of waste between the helpless riverman’s jaws, and tied it down with a
dirty strip of cloth. Then he resumed his seat.
“Jest a little precaution against noise,” he said unpleasantly. “My pals
are out in the yard, an’ I ain’t anxious for ’em to know I brung you in
here. They think you’re a second watchman--see? I got sight o’ your face
first an’ covered it up so nobody would know you was here. Bill’s down
to Lynchburg, soused, an’ likely won’t show up till mornin’. This was to
be the night for our little shindy, only, not havin’ no word yet, I was
goin’ to give it up--till you come along. Now I think I’ll let things go
ahead, word or no word. Get me, Steve?”
He arose, leering hideously, and Curly felt the perspiration begin to
burst out all over his body. His wide-open eyes--the only part of him
which could move--sought Joyce’s, but the fellow’s gaze, shifting
continually, thwarted the attempt. Kollock noticed--just why he did not
know--that the other’s face was deathly pale, and that his low forehead
was covered with little beads of sweat. A second later Joyce picked up
the lantern and moved lightly toward the door.
“Jest tell ’em that you saw me, an’ give ’em my regards,” he sneered
over his shoulder, but his voice cracked on the last word, and,
stumbling over a loose board in the floor, he disappeared.
For perhaps half a minute Curly lay absolutely still. Then the horror of
what that human fiend meant to do struck him with full force, turning
him cold and then hot as fire. He rolled over on his face, and, bracing
both feet against the foundation of the saw, strained the splendid
muscles of back and arm and shoulder as he had never strained them
before. The ropes cracked a little, but held fast, biting deep into his
flesh. He paid no heed to the pain. Again he strove with all his might
to break those bonds. Again he failed. Joyce had done his work well.
He was still straining, twisting, and flinging himself about till every
inch of his body seemed sore to the touch, when of a sudden the faint,
light tang of something new in the air made him stop like a person
paralyzed.
Smoke!
For a second he did not dare to breathe. Slowly, fearfully, he drew in
the air. Then a smothered, inarticulate sound, half scream, half groan,
echoed through the dark mill. It was smoke! The coward had kept his word
and fired the building. No one would ever know. The flames were coming
fast--fast. Presently they would reach him----
In a panic of horror he again cast himself here and there over the board
floor, the sawdust sometimes muffling the thudding sound of his body.
There was not one chance in a thousand that one would hear him. He
stopped and listened, but detected no sound. A fresh puff of smoke made
him gag. It was coming faster and faster, thicker and thicker.
Gasping for breath, he flung himself about again in a mad paroxysm of
fear. Above the thudding noise of his own making he could hear the
horrible, ominous crackling of flames. Crevices here and there began to
be outlined in dull, glowing, changing red. He thought he heard the
clanging of the primitive alarm, but he could not be sure.
Hither and thither he rolled, keeping up the motion without conscious
volition, scraping, scratching, bumping against obstacles, but always
blindly to get farther away from the consuming element beyond the
partition.
At one time the lapping, gurgling sound of water struck on his dazed
senses with the shock of the incredible. Then he realized that it came
from beneath him, and knew that he must be in the portion of the mill
built out over the river. A few inches of flooring was all that
separated him from the cool, soothing touch of that water. The bitter
irony of it ate into his soul like caustic, and brought a sudden rush of
scalding tears to the stinging, smoke-blinded eyes.
The glow brightened, grew more vivid. A single tongue of flame slid
through a crack, and began licking up the wall. The sight seemed to
arouse Curly to fresh exertions. He flung himself furiously to one side,
and by a strange chance he struck glancingly against the teeth of the
circular saw, which cut his face cruelly and tore away the gag.
It took him a second or two to realize what had happened. Then from
between his swollen lips a fierce, wild cry of desperate appeal rang
out. It rose shrilly, piercingly, ended in a choke. He tried to cry
again, but the smoke rushed into his lungs and turned the shout into a
gruesome groan.
That smoke was pouring into the room in clouds now. The single tongue of
flame had bred a score, casting a lurid light over the place, and
driving black despair into the half-conscious brain of the hopeless
victim.