THE UNEXPECTED
This was both a startling and unexpected discovery. Dan gripped Billy’s
arm again, enjoining silence, and the two boys crept away from the
vicinity of the hollow stump.
The rosy glow above its summit—the smoke rising above the tree-tops—the
warmth of the dead tree, so that the snow did not stick to it while the
rough bark of the live trees was now crusted with the fast falling
flakes—these facts were all to be pieced together. And the dovetailing
did not take long when Dan put his mind to it!
“It’s a smokepipe—a chimney,” he whispered.
“What is?” muttered Billy, puzzled.
“That hollow stump.”
“Crickey! where’s the fire?” demanded Billy, in amazement.
“Under the ground—somewhere. There’s a cave—a den in the rocks. Somehow
a smoke flue has been dug to the hollow tree——”
“If it was hot enough to reflect upon the snow above the top,” objected
Billy, “the old tree would be afire.”
“Not if they had lined it with clay, and baked the clay first,”
responded Dan.
“Gee, Dan! you’ve got a head!”
“I hope so,” returned Dan, laughing.
“But could the dummy have done all that——?”
“How do we know who is in the cavern?” snapped Dan. “And take it from
me—it was somebody beside that dumb fellow who contrived this hide-out.
These people must be outlaws of some kind, Billy—surest thing you know!”
“Of course they are—if they stole our boat,” agreed Billy.
“We don’t know who they are,” said Dan, thoughtfully. “And we don’t know
how to get into their camp, anyway. Goodness, Billy! maybe we’ll wish we
_did_ know, even if they are pretty tough citizens. Where are we going
to find shelter in this blizzard?”
The storm was increasing mightily. The snow drove down through the
branches with a startled “sh-sh-sh.” This drowned even the whining of
the wind through the taller tree-tops.
The boys made little sound as they moved about, for the snow deadened
every other noise. They stood together for some moments without
speaking.
To be out in such a time as this was neither pleasant nor safe. The cold
was stinging, and one might easily freeze to death on such a night. Even
the idea of being covered up in the snow was no comfortable thought,
although they might remain thus sheltered till morning without any
serious injury. Many times Dan and Billy had uncovered their sheep after
a serious snowstorm, and the lads knew that a snowdrift was porous and
the heat of the body thus mantled would keep them from freezing.
“Besides,” whispered Dan, at last, “we can find our way down to the boat
again, and cover ourselves with a part of the sail.”
“But how about this dummy?” muttered Billy. “Suppose he’s alone? I
believe he’d give us shelter.”
“We’ll look,” agreed Dan. “But for goodness sake be careful.”
“How are we going about it, Dan?”
“Round and round. Take that hollow stump for the center. We’ll circle
around until we find the entrance to his den.”
“But Lettie and I were all over this island,” objected Billy.
“You didn’t know what you were looking for; did you?”
“Humph! I suppose not.”
“Now we know,” chuckled Dan. “We’re looking for a hole in the ground
where there is a fire. Goodness! won’t it be fine to be warm again?”
For the boys were badly chilled by now. Billy could scarcely keep his
teeth from chattering.
From where they stood the boys could dimly see the black trunk of the
hollow tree which Dan believed was the chimney of the mysterious den in
the rocks.
“You go one way; I’ll go the other. Don’t lose sight of the tree,”
advised the older Speedwell.
They separated. The snow sifted down so thickly that it was not long
before they lost sight of each other. It was no easy matter to get about
among the boulders and roughage of the hillside. Big rocks cropped out
in places; and there were many stumps, and masses of vines and bushes to
trip them. That all these obstructions were pretty well masked in the
fallen snow made the going all the harder.
Billy had every confidence in his brother’s judgment; and it did seem as
though Dan must be right about the cave and the strange chimney
connected with it. Somewhere underneath where they trod was a warm
hollow, sheltering, perhaps, only the boy whom they called “Dummy.” If
he was alone, Billy was sure he would give Dan and himself shelter.
But they wanted to be sure of that. Billy wasn’t desirous of “mixing in”
with those three masked robbers who had treated old John Bromley so
roughly.
And so thinking, as he crept on over the higher part of the island above
the hollow stump, Billy suddenly stepped right out into space. At least,
so it seemed. He put his foot upon a bank of snow, and “slumped right
in”!
The snow had treacherously filled a narrow cut between two boulders.
Billy dropped to his chin in the soft, cold mass, and then found that he
was wedged so tightly that he couldn’t get out.
He dared not shout to Dan. _That_ might be their undoing indeed. If
there were men about whom they must perforce consider enemies, Billy was
determined not to bring them out here.
So he struggled, and panted, and wrenched himself from side to side, and
tried his very best to seize upon the edge of the rock above him and
draw his body up. All to no purpose!
He was just as much a prisoner as though he were bound with cords. The
snow was fast drifting over him, too. Billy was already badly chilled,
and the thought of being covered completely by the snow made him shake
all the more.
Indeed, he was in a bad way. He was too courageous to yell for his
brother and thus run the risk of attracting others in the neighborhood;
but it did seem to Billy as though he were doomed to be smothered,
standing erect between the two rocks.
Above the imperilled boy the snow whirled in ghostly forms. Like
shrouded figures of lost spirits the snow drifted through the open
grove, passing the frightened lad in a dreary procession. The “sh-sh-sh”
of the falling flakes seemed now like an actual voice.
There came a white figure more certain in its outlines than the others.
Billy struggled to raise himself again, his lips parted, tempted to
shriek. The figure came nearer.
“Goodness gracious! what’s the matter with you?” gasped Dan’s anxious
voice. “I’ve been hunting for you everywhere.”
“Crickey! is that you, Dannie?” returned Billy. “I thought I was done
for.”
“Why didn’t you yell?” demanded Dan, laying hold of his brother’s
wrists.
“And start something, maybe?”
“Well! you plucky young duffer,” exclaimed Dan, in some pride. “Now! out
you come!”
Billy lay panting at his feet for some moments. Dan examined the hole
into which his brother had fallen.
“Don’t suppose that’s a way into the den, do you?”
“So—solid under my feet, Dan,” gasped Billy. “That’s no entrance, I
bet.”
“Come on, then. We’ll keep together this time. Haven’t found a sign of
the way in yet.”
They took a wider circle about the hollow stump. Stumbling on, arm in
arm (for Billy was getting exhausted, although he would not own up to
it), the Speedwells made another complete round without discovering
anything.
The way was so rough that it was impossible to recall just where the
hollow stump stood. The boys had reached the bottom of the hill and the
shore of the island was near at hand. But in that direction they could
see but a short distance. The snow was like a thick curtain before their
eyes.
“Crickey, Dan!” groaned Billy. “We’ve lost it.”
“Oh, I guess the old stump hasn’t moved,” said Dan, cheerfully. “It’s up
yonder—somewhere!”
At that moment they again caught sight of the rosy glow in the
tree-tops. “See!” exclaimed Dan. “More heat. Jingo! that must be a great
draft.”
“They must have some way of shutting off the draft, and then opening it
again,” said Billy, in a puzzled tone. “There! it’s gone.”
“I’ve got it” exclaimed Dan, suddenly. “I bet that’s a forge.”
“A forge?” repeated Billy, in wonder.
“They’d want a tall chimney for a forge on account of needing a strong
draft,” declared Dan. “That’s what it is.”
“But a forge in a cave?” queried his brother, doubtfully. “What for?”
“Ah! that’s another question,” returned Dan. “I don’t see that far,
yet.”
But in secret Dan believed he had guessed the business of the men who
had once, at least, occupied the cave, whether they were there now, or
not. He said nothing to Billy about this, however.
The younger boy had stumbled into a heap of split wood. Dummy—or
somebody else—had spent some time in preparing a great heap of fuel
against just such a storm as this that now raged over the valley of the
Colasha.
“And Dan,” whispered Billy, eagerly, “wouldn’t he have his woodpile
pretty near to the door of the cave? What do you think?”
“I think you’ve got a good head on you,” returned Dan, promptly. “Let’s
go careful here.”
Right at hand was a thick, low clump of bushes. The snow was heaped upon
and into this brush, until it was waist high, only the tops of the
bushes sticking out.
And, strangely enough, there seemed to be a narrow path, crooked as a
ram’s horn, but quite plain—through the midst of this brush-clump.
“Look, there!” exclaimed the watchful Dan. “Leads right to the steep
side of that rock. Come on.”
“But there’s no way of getting through that big boulder!” gasped Billy.
“Under it, perhaps,” ventured Dan.
He stooped as he spoke and tossed the snow aside. He got below the
interlocked branches of the bushes, and knelt upon the stony ground.
There _was_ a sort of a tunnel under the brush. The ground was packed
hard.
“By the paws of some wild animal that must have used this runway once,”
whispered Dan. “It leads to his den.”
“I hope it isn’t at home,” chattered Billy.
“But there will be somebody else at home—sure! Come on—softly.”
In half a minute the two boys, Dan ahead, and both on hands and knees,
had crept to the foot of the huge rock that seemed so impassable from a
little distance.
Underneath the foot of the boulder, however, was a narrow passage
entering the hillside. Without doubt it had once been the lair of a wild
animal.
But Dan and Billy did not apprehend the appearance of any such tenant of
the hollow in the hillside. It was long since any dangerous animal had
been seen in the woods about Riverdale.
And it was man that had built the fire. The two boys crept a little way
into the passage and listened. In a moment they heard a high pitched
voice—a voice shrieking, it seemed, in pain and fright. But the words—if
words the person uttered—were quite unintelligible.
“What d’ye know about that?” whispered Billy, forgetting at once his own
misfortunes. “There’s trouble up there——”
Again and again the shrieks echoed down the passage. Then followed the
rough tones of a deeper voice. The man spoke in anger—there was no doubt
of that—and instantly the shriller voice cried out again.
------------------------------------------------------------------------