DRIVEN TO DEATH.
The first step to freedom was a success, and consequently Jerry felt
greatly elated. He hesitated a moment, slightly bewildered by several
expedients that suggested themselves to his mind. Then he picked up the
knife and crawled noiselessly back across the floor.
He safely reached his sleeping place, and threw himself down in his
former attitude. He lay perfectly still for nearly five minutes. Then he
was satisfied that Bogle and Sparwick were buried deep in slumber. He
turned around and gave Hamp a gentle shake. The lad stirred and sleepily
opened his eyes.
"Hamp, are you awake?" Jerry whispered, softly, in his ear.
"Yes; what's up?" came the drowsy reply.
"Hush! don't talk so loud. I'll do the talking. Are you sure you're wide
awake and can understand me?"
"Of course I am," whispered Hamp, a little impatiently.
Then he saw that Jerry's arms were free.
"You are in luck," he added. "Are you going to escape?"
"Yes; and I want you to go with me," Jerry replied, putting his mouth
close to Hamp's ear. "I haven't time to explain now, only I found a
knife and cut my arms loose. Turn yours this way a little bit." Hamp
obeyed, and Jerry deftly severed the ropes.
"Now lie still until you see me open the door," he resumed. "That will
be the signal. Then jump and sneak out after me. I want to get our caps
and snowshoes first."
"Are you going to take Brick along?" Hamp asked.
"No; I wish we could. He is chained fast to Bogle. I wouldn't dare to
try. But if we get away all right, Brick won't be a prisoner long. That
old trapper was prowling around here to-night. We'll strike right for
his camp. The tracks will help us to find it. You understand what you
are to do now?"
"Yes; I'll be ready."
"Watch for the door to open," Jerry added. "Lie still, and don't make a
sound. Better keep your arms under you, in case Sparwick should get
awake. If he does, give a little cough."
"All right," whispered Hamp.
Having thus taken all possible precautions against failure, Jerry once
more crawled noiselessly away from the bed.
When he was half way across the room, he ventured to rise to his feet.
Then, bending low, he moved to and fro in search of what he wanted. He
found the snowshoes and the caps without any trouble. He softly opened
the cupboard and put some crackers and cold meat in his pocket.
He wanted a rifle badly, but they all rested on one pair of hooks, and
he was afraid that he could not get one down without making a racket.
So he reluctantly concluded to do without.
Jerry softly crossed to the door. He undid the fastenings and pulled it
half-way open. He stopped on the threshold and looked back into the
room. It was a moment of thrilling suspense. He saw Hamp rise slowly to
his feet and take a step forward.
Then, like a flash, Sparwick's tall figure towered over the lad. There
was a scuffle and a heavy fall. Two hoarse cries blended into one.
Jerry stood as one petrified. He heard Sparwick calling lustily for
Bogle. He saw the latter spring to his feet, dragging Brick after him.
Then Hamp's voice rang sharp and clear, in tones of entreaty:
"Run, Jerry! run! I'll hold him as long as I can."
This broke the spell. Jerry knew that Hamp was beyond hope of rescue. He
dropped the latter's snowshoes, but held on to his own. He dashed over
the threshold and into the moonlit clearing.
There was no time to look for the trapper's tracks. He remembered his
saying to Bogle that his camp lay north of the swamp. Luckily Jerry had
his bearings, and knew what direction to take.
He sped around the end of the cabin and plunged into the thicket. As he
ran on and on, the tumult behind him faded away. The recent cold snap
had formed a crust on the snow, and he made pretty good progress. Now
and then, however, he struck weak spots and broke through to his knees.
At the end of half-an-hour he ventured to stop. He seated himself on a
log and strapped his snowshoes on securely. He was conscious of a
feeling of elation. Not a sound could be heard but the rustle of the
wind.
"I don't believe they know which direction I took," he reflected.
"Anyway, I have a good start, and I mean to keep it. Once I find Mowry's
camp, I will be all right. I can't afford to lose any time, so here
goes."
He struck off again at a swinging gait. The snowshoes made traveling a
delightful task. The moonlight was a great help to him. It shone into
the gloomy recesses of the swamp.
At the end of two hours he passed from the confines of the swamp into a
fragrant pine forest. There was a steep hill some distance in front of
him. He might have gone to right or left, but he was not sure that he
had kept unswervingly to the north since he fled from the cabin.
Jerry vaguely feared that he had lost his bearings It occurred to him
that from high ground he might put himself right, or catch a flickering
gleam of Mowry's campfire. So he toiled up the hill, never noting that
his snowshoes left a plain imprint with every step. He gained a ridge
and pushed along it for some distance.
But the undergrowth and timber were heavy, and he could not see far
beyond them. He suddenly discovered that he was exhausted and worn out.
He thought of climbing a tree to obtain an unobstructed view, but the
effort seemed too great. He sat down on a snow-covered bowlder to rest.
He was in a glow of heat and perspiration, and did not feel the cold.
The silvery moonlight streamed upon an open glade in front of him.
The time sped by more quickly than Jerry knew. The keen, biting air
roused him from a train of thought. He concluded to push on. He rose to
his feet and stood debating which way to turn.
Before he could decide, a crashing noise in the bushes behind him sent a
cold chill through his blood. He ran forward half-a-dozen yards and then
turned his head. He was horrified to see Kyle Sparwick emerge from the
bushes. The ruffian had a rifle in his hands. He drew it to his shoulder
and took aim at Jerry.
"Stop right thar," he cried. "The game is up, lad. I've got you."
But Jerry did not stop. He melted away before Sparwick's indignant
eyes. In other words, he dodged behind the trunk of a convenient tree.
Thence he gained the cover of thick bushes, and made a spurt over the
ridge.
No shot followed him. Indeed, Sparwick had not intended to shoot. His
object was to capture the lad. He uttered a yell of anger and started in
pursuit. His quick, loping gait soon brought him in sight of Jerry.
Then the chase became doubly exciting. Threats of shooting were freely
uttered. But Jerry did not let these distress him. He was satisfied, by
this time, that Sparwick had some good reason for not rousing the night
echoes with a rifle-shot.
The lad was soon at his wits' end. He was more angry than scared. It
was not personal injury that he feared. Recapture meant the destruction
of his hopes, and he wanted badly to save Brick's father from paying
fifteen thousand dollars to the rascally schemers. But he seemed doomed
to failure. His enemy was rapidly and surely overhauling him. In
desperation he picked up a short, thick billet of wood. He faced around
and threw it.
The billet struck Sparwick's right arm and knocked his rifle to the
ground. With a snarl of rage and pain, he stooped to recover it.
"You'll pay dear fur that when I git hold of you," he shouted.
This ruse allowed Jerry to gain a dozen feet, and gave him fresh hope
and courage.
"Mebbe I can outrun him, after all," he thought. "If there was only
cover enough to dodge and hide!"
But a moment later the ridge suddenly narrowed, and just ahead lay a
huge, towering bowlder, crowned with pine trees. It jutted up sheerly,
and Jerry knew that he had no time to scale it. He turned and ran to the
left side of the ridge. There were tall, tangled bushes in the way, but
he forced recklessly through them.
Then came a moment of frightful despair! The treacherous screen ended on
the brink of a chasm. To draw back now was impossible.
Jerry's feet slipped over the edge. With a hoarse cry on his lips, he
shot down--down into the misty, yawning depths of space.
Several minutes later Sparwick crept tremblingly to the verge of the
precipice. With a white, scared face, he peeped over.
"Poor lad!" he muttered. "It's the end of him--a straight fall of not
less than a hundred feet. He must be smashed to a jelly. Well, dead men
tell no tales. I reckon the fifteen thousand is safe. I'd better be
makin' tracks for the cabin."
He turned away with a shudder.