A FRIEND IN NEED.
It was an hour after dawn when Sparwick returned to the cabin. Bogle was
up preparing breakfast. The boys lay on the bed with wide-open eyes.
They were delighted to see that Sparwick had come back alone, but their
exultation was quickly changed to deepest sorrow, when the story of
Jerry's sad accident was told.
They pleaded with their captors to have Jerry's body recovered--a
request that was firmly refused. After breakfast Bogle and Sparwick held
a long and earnest discussion. Then, much to the amazement of the boys,
they began to prepare for a journey.
"Where are you going?" Brick ventured to ask.
"None of your business," Bogle replied. "You'll know in good time."
"Come on! Lively, now," added Sparwick.
"I guess they're afraid that trapper will find poor Jerry and make
trouble," Brick whispered to his companion, as they passed out of the
door. "So they are going to hunt a safer hiding-place."
"That's about it," assented Hamp.
There was no chance to say more. A sled was given to each lad, and they
dropped into line behind Bogle, who assumed the lead with a rifle over
his shoulder.
In the rear came Sparwick, dragging the third sled and keeping a
watchful eye on the prisoners.
All morning the little party tramped steadily to the east. At noon they
stopped long enough for a lunch. Then they pushed on, through scenery of
the most lonely and rugged description, until three o'clock in the
afternoon.
A deep valley now lay before them. It was densely covered with trees and
undergrowth. After traversing it for half a mile, Bogle turned toward
the base of the hill. He pushed through a strip of heavy timber and
huge, scattered bowlders.
A moment later the weary travelers were at their destination.
The Rock House was aptly named. It was a sunken depression in the base
of the mountain--a sort of cave with an open front.
In a short time the place presented a cozy and cheerful appearance. The
luggage was unpacked, and the red flames danced in the stone fireplace.
Sparwick brought in a dozen loads of pine boughs and made a soft bed.
It was long past dark when supper was ready. In spite of their grief the
boys were very hungry. They enjoyed the meal. Then Bogle ordered them to
bed.
"You needn't think of escape," he said. "This place is harder to find or
get away from than the cabin in the swamp. Make the best of things, and
in good time you'll be free."
He strolled back to the fire and, lighting his pipe, sat down beside
Sparwick.
The boys felt too wretched and heartbroken to sleep. In tearful whispers
they talked about Jerry.
"I can hardly believe that he is dead," said Brick. "He was an awfully
good fellow."
"No better ever lived," replied Hamp. "He was murdered, Brick. Sparwick
drove him over that cliff. I'll never rest until both these scoundrels
are caught and punished."
"Nor I," added Brick. "We'll devote our lives to it. It won't seem long
now until we are free."
"But it takes a good while to go to New York and back from here," said
Hamp. "Anyhow, will Raikes know where to find us now?"
"They must have left a message for him at the cabin," replied Brick; "or
perhaps it was all arranged beforehand."
At this point Bogle and Sparwick came over to bed, and the conversation
ended abruptly.
We must now return to the events of the previous night.
After shooting sixty feet downward from the top of the precipice, Jerry
plunged into the bushy branches of a pine tree that jutted outward from
a crevice in the wall of rock. He stuck for an instant, and then slipped
through. He fell a farther distance of thirty feet, and landed in
another pine tree.
This time the branches held him tight, and there he remained in a state
of unconsciousness until daybreak.
About that time Jack Mowry, the trapper, happened along, in search of a
brace of partridges for breakfast. Fortunately he glanced up and saw the
lad.
The angle of the cliff was not so sharp at the base. It offered plenty
of footholds. The trapper clambered up for ten feet. He reached the tree
and succeeded in extricating Jerry, and getting him safely to the
ground.
The trapper carried Jerry tenderly to his camp, which was less than half
a mile distant--a cozy bark shanty in a wind-sheltered nook of the
forest.
Mowry was one of nature's own physicians, and knew just what to do.
After satisfying himself that no bones were broken, he rubbed Jerry
vigorously from head to foot, and dressed his bruises and scratches.
Then he rolled him in blankets and dosed him with hot drinks.
This wise treatment undoubtedly saved the lad's life, but it did not
entirely counteract the effects of his fall and exposure to the bitter
cold. He struggled out of his stupor to a sort of semi-consciousness. He
talked in a rambling and incoherent manner, and tossed restlessly in a
fever.
For two days he remained in this condition. Mowry tended him faithfully
and constantly, never leaving his side for a moment.
On the third morning Jerry opened his eyes with a clear mind. He was
puzzled to find himself in such surroundings. He remembered all that had
happened up to the time of his fall. He listened with wonder to Mowry's
explanation. He was startled to find out how much time had elapsed.
Then, in an eager voice, he told the whole story from beginning to end.
The trapper was vastly indignant to learn of the rascality of his old
associates.
"Of course I'll help you, lad," he declared. "I knowed suthin' was wrong
when I run across the cabin, an' they didn't even ask me in ter warm my
bones. An' that was me you heard outside that night. I was tryin' ter
diskiver the mystery. I reckon I didn't git back until arter you fell,
else I'd a' heard you screech. You see, I took a roundabout way so as to
hide my tracks."
"Then we must act at once," replied Jerry. "If we don't, we won't save
the money. Raikes may return from New York any day."
"Time enough, lad," assured Mowry. "The rascals think you're dead, an'
they won't dream of leavin' the cabin. If you take keer of yourself
ter-day, you'll be able ter tramp down to Kingman an' organize a party."
Jerry insisted that he was as well as ever, and wanted to get up. But an
effort satisfied him that this was out of the question. So he submitted
to the inevitable as patiently as possible.
Mowry fed him on nourishing meat and broth during the day, and by
evening all traces of fever had left him.
A hasty breakfast was eaten in the morning, and the camp was put in
order. Then Mowry and Jerry started on their long tramp. The trapper
took a hand-sled with him, and whenever the level ground permitted, he
gave the lad a lift. Thus the journey was robbed of half its
fatigue, and Jerry was comparatively fresh when the settlement was
reached late in the afternoon.
Kingman was a straggling bit of a place on the Canadian Pacific
Railroad. The inhabitants were bluff, honest folk, and Mowry happily
knew most of them. He accepted the proffered hospitality of the station
agent for himself and companion.
The news quickly spread through the village, and by the next morning a
party of armed men were ready to start for the cabin in the swamp. Jerry
reluctantly consented to stay behind. He had to admit that he was not in
fit condition to make the long tramp.
"Thar's one thing you'd better do while we're gone," said Mowry.
"Telegraph to this here lawyer in New York ter have Silas Raikes
arrested. It may save a heap of trouble."
The station agent favored this suggestion. But, unluckily, Jerry had
forgotten the name and address. He finally concluded that the former was
Glenwood. So, while Mowry and his companions were heading northward
through the woods, a message sped southward over the wires, addressed
simply, "Mr. Glenwood, New York."
It read as follows:
"Don't make any deal with the man from Maine who demands $15,000.
Have him arrested at once. Particulars later. Answer."
The name of the station agent was attached. But noon brought no answer;
nor yet evening. A second message was dispatched, and a third at
midnight.
Morning came, and still there was no reply.
Jerry waited impatiently about the telegraph tower at the station. Then
he went to dinner. As he and the agent were rising from the table, the
operator arrived with a yellow paper. It contained the following reply
from New York:
"Can't find the man. Lots of Glenwoods in the city. No lawyers of that
name."