UNDER THE DRIPPING TREES
Vaguely Hiram Hooker sensed a diabolical plot as he pounded on through
the rain, tireless, determined, remorseless, on the trail of the
abductors of Jerkline Jo.
The doping of his four fellow skinners at Ragtown had a part in the
plan. It had been done deliberately to force the girl and Hiram into
the wilderness alone. Some one had known of Huber's shortage of hay,
and had schemed accordingly, aware of Jerkline Jo's eternal willingness
to do her best by her patrons, regardless of the strain upon herself.
The plotters had not been able to get at Hiram. Perhaps they had not
tried. Jerkline Jo would hardly essay a trip to Julia and back alone.
Too many difficulties might arise on the road that a lone skinner--even
a man skinner--could not cope with. So they perhaps had not molested
Hiram, hoping, if he were on his feet, that the girl would attempt the
trip with him. They had waited at the first U curve, and the moment he
was out of sight had pounced upon her. Suppose he had not chanced to
look back? The many curves ahead would have hidden her from him for
nearly an hour after that first one had been passed. That would have
given them a start, the disadvantage of which he could not have
overcome. As it was, though, he knew that he was hot on their trail,
and burdened as they were, was gaining on them at every leap. Was
Drummond back of this? Hiram could think of no one else who would be
even remotely at enmity with the lovable Jerkline Jo.
He brought up suddenly and squatted behind a bush of southern
manzanita. Just ahead, in an open portion of the forest, was a group
of three men, standing in a circle about a stiff, immovable figure on
the ground. Three saddled horses stood close by, their tails turned
toward the rain, their heads lowered disconsolately.
The men had just stopped and laid down their burden, which was nothing
else than the tightly bound body of Jerkline Jo. All three men wore
masks over their faces and new bright-blue overalls to further aid in
hiding their identities. Hiram saw the rope about the girl, running in
a spiral from her shoulders to her ankles. He saw the cloth over her
face, knotted behind her head.
What should he do? There were three men standing about the girl,
rubbing their arms, which probably ached from the strain of carrying
her. Beyond a doubt they were armed. He tried to think, to plan; but
in the midst of it all half-formulated schemes deserted him because of
the sudden action of one of them.
He had taken something from his pocket, and now he and another stooped
over the prostrate figure of the girl. One man grasped her head in
both hands; the next instant Hiram realized with horror that a blade
was gleaming dully through the rain in the right hand of the other man.
The third stooped and squatted on Jo's ankles.
Hiram Hooker had at least one more accomplishment than has been
mentioned. As a boy he had used it to terrify his elders on dark
nights in the forest. He could imitate the piercing, blood-chilling
scream of the prowling panther until women in lonely forest cabins
clutched their breasts in fear, and men's faces blanched. Sprinting
from his place of concealment like a football player, crouching low as
he ran, he bore down upon the three men, and had almost reached them
before he loosed that terrorizing cry. Before it had died out in the
lonely, dripping wilderness, he was flailing right and left with a huge
pine knot in either hand, amazing and invincible as Sampson with his
jawbone of an ass.
With yells of terror, the trio rocked back on their haunches and
struggled frantically to gain their feet. There was a sickening crack,
and the man who had held Jo's head pitched backward, a victim of one of
Hiram's warclubs. Swinging about, he aimed a blow with his left-hand
club, but its intended target ducked, and the club descended on the
man's shoulder, wringing a cry of pain from lips that whitened suddenly.
The third man was up now, and sprang upon Hiram's back. The other
charged him from in front. Hiram hurled his left-hand club straight
into this man's face, and with his free hand reached down and grasped
the left leg of the man who had climbed him in the rear. Carrying this
man, who all the time was raining blows on his head, Hiram ran with all
his might for a close-by pine. As he neared it he whirled about and
threw himself at it backward with every atom of his force.
There followed a terrible impact, and in his ear exploded the breath of
the man on his back, as he came in violent contact with the trunk of
the tree. The shock pitched Hiram forward on his face, and the man who
had climbed upon him fell limply to the earth, the wind entirely
crushed out of him.
Hiram bounded to his feet and confronted the man into whose face he had
thrown the pine knot, and who now was rushing him, brandishing a
revolver. Hiram's blow had knocked the mask from this man's face, but
it was a face that Hiram had never seen before.
A shot barked dully in the heavy atmosphere of the forest, and the
smoke hung in a little ball. Hiram felt the impact of the bullet, and
was whirled half around with the force of it. He knew he had been hit
some place--in the breast or shoulder perhaps--but as yet felt not the
slightest pain. Fire flashed in his very face, now, and this time he
smelled the acrid powder; but he had been in motion when the trigger
was pressed and the bullet whined away fretfully through the trees. On
the heels of the second report came that sickening crack once more, and
the face of the man that glared through the smoke at Hiram went red
with a smear of blood.
He sank to his knees, and Hiram spun about just in time to aim another
crashing blow at the skull of the man whom he had catapulted into the
tree. His mask still held in place, but his hat was off and Hiram saw
that his hair was brown and wavy. There had not been time to aim, and
the blow fell on his assailant's neck.
They clinched, went down together, rolling over and over, clawing at
each other like fighting lynxes.
"Gi' me the paper! Gi' me the paper!" yelled a voice, as Hiram climbed
uppermost on his man and fought to free his entangled arms.
At the same instant other arms were thrown about him from behind. The
man he had hit first had reëntered the fight, it seemed.
With a herculean heave the man from Wild-cat Hill lurched backward,
carrying his lighter assailant with him. Hiram had lost his club. He
grasped the man on his back by the under part of his thighs, as he had
the other, and lifted his feet from the ground. Then, so quickly that
the man was taken off his guard, Hiram leaped into the air and fell
backward, falling with all the weight of his huge body on the man who
clung to him like an abalone to a rock.
"_Wuff_!" he heard again, as the fellow's breath forsook him in a spasm
of pain. He lost his hold on Hiram, and Hiram flopped over.
"Run! Get a horse! Get away with the paper!" this fellow choked; and
as Hiram sprang upon him he saw the other rise and totter toward a
horse.
Crashing a blow to the face of the man under him, Hiram sprang to his
feet and lunged at the one who was fleeing. Whatever "the paper"
meant, it was the nucleus of the plot, it appeared, and Hiram purposed
to have it.
But, grasping frantically for a stirrup, then sprawling along the neck
of the nearest horse, the man yelled to the animal, and it leaped away
with him through the trees.
Hiram whirled back, beaten in that direction, and made for the other,
who was on his feet and also running toward the two remaining mounts.
The third man still lay inert.
Hiram started running for the second escaping man, but suddenly his
knees refused to hold his legs to their accustomed task. Blindness was
coming upon him, but he continued to grope toward the horses. Then
again came the sounds of rapidly thundering hoofs. Hiram Hooker sighed
weakly and placed both hands to his breast, which seemed weighted with
some heavy object, or bound about tightly with a rope. His hands came
away red and wet He wilted in his tracks, sighed again, and seemed to
drift placidly into a deep, soothing sleep.
Then a noise partially awoke him. His senses swam, and he thought he
heard himself laughing crazily, but could not make sure whether he was
laughing or only had imagined it. A man was reeling toward the
remaining horse, both hands to his head, and he looked so helpless and
befuddled that Hiram laughed again--or thought he did. The man groaned
and mumbled, then fell flat on his face, as a baby falls in an
unchecked collapse. A little while he lay there, then struggled to his
feet again, and tottered toward the horse, who seemed to be neighing
shrilly for the mates that had deserted him.
Why, that was what Hiram had heard, he reasoned. He had not been
laughing at all. A long space of semiconsciousness. Then came the
dull thunder of hoofs once more. Hiram half raised his body on an
elbow. There lay Jerkline Jo, stiff and immovable in her yellow
oilskins. There was no one else about. Save himself, of course, but
he was so sleepy.
He fell back with a crash.