Czytaj książkę: «The Bungalow Boys in the Great Northwest», strona 5

CHAPTER X.
IN DIRE STRAITS

Moving with the utmost caution so as not to arouse the sleeping Indian, Tom attempted to reach the knife with his bound hands. But he found this impossible to do. After a dozen efforts he realized that it was hopeless. It began to look as if their unknown benefactor might have striven in vain to aid them. But Tom’s mind was not one to be overcome by an obstacle, however insurmountable it might seem at first blush.

Reaching forward – like a boy playing bob-cherry – he seized the knife with his teeth. Tom’s ivories were white and strong and even, and holding the keen blade in his mouth he had no difficulty in sawing Jack’s hands free, for the younger boy had instantly perceived, without Tom’s telling him, what the other was about to do.

Of course, the thing took longer to perform than it does to tell it here. A dozen times or more the boys interrupted themselves to look cautiously around. For all they knew there might be other guards than the sleeping Indian and his companion. But they could see none, and, as the moments went on without interruption, they grew bolder and worked more rapidly. Presently Jack was free, and, taking the knife from Tom, he at once accomplished his brother’s disentanglement.

“What are we going to do now?” whispered Jack, as they stood cramped and aching, but thrilling at the same time with the sense of glorious liberty. But they were by no means at the end of their troubles yet. They had still to get out of the cave and make their way to some place of security beyond Bully Banjo’s immediate grip.

Tom did not answer Jack’s question immediately. Instead, he paused and an expression of deep thought came over his countenance. One by one, he ran over the various features of the locality as he recalled them. The high-sided canyon, steep as the walls of a house, and with no apparent way of reaching the summit from below. No, there was no chance of getting away there. The river? Ah, that was better. Tom thought that by working along the edge of the stream they could reach the sea coast, or at least some point at which they could clamber back onto the trail, – possibly at the same place as that by which they had made their unfortunate excursion after water.

Rapidly and in a low whisper he conveyed his plan to Jack. The younger boy nodded, and then, as there was nothing to be gained by waiting, they started to put the daring plan into execution. But as they moved forward out of the cave Death, who, like most Indians slumbered as lightly as a cat, stirred and opened his eyes. In a flash, he saw what had happened and comprehended it.

Luckily, before he cried out to give the alarm, he reached for his rifle, which lay by his side. That instant of time was all that Tom needed. In one bound he was on the Chinook. The fellow reeled backward under his powerful blow, toppling head first into the still glowing fire. Before he could utter a cry, though, Tom was on him. The Bungalow Boy’s hand was clapped over the Indian’s mouth. But Tom speedily found that, though his swift attack had temporarily made him master of the situation, he was no more than a fair match for the Indian. The fellow was thin, but as tough as steel wire. He wriggled and squirmed like an acrobat under Tom’s powerful grip. Fortunately, all this rolling and thrashing about brought them out of the embers, or one or the other might have been badly burned.

It was Jack who turned the balance in favor of Tom. He saw as soon as Tom sprang on the Indian that the latter was likely to prove a pretty handy man in a rough and tumble encounter, and therefore he had lost no time in dashing back into the cave and securing some of the ropes with which they themselves had been secured but a few moments before.

He returned just as the Indian, by dint of arching his back, had succeeded in momentarily casting off Tom’s grip. The Bungalow Boy, taken by surprise by the sudden spring-like upbound of the Indian, was cast clear off him, in fact. But before the Indian could take any advantage of this turn of affairs, Jack was on him. The younger Dacre boy seized the leathery-faced old rascal by the head and clapped one hand over his mouth. He realized that the most important thing to do was to keep the man from calling out and alarming the camp. Tom speedily recovered himself, and, coming to Jack’s aid, it was not long before they had the Chinook as securely tied and bound as they themselves had been. Ripping off a portion of his blue-flannel shirt, Tom stuffed it in the fellow’s mouth to serve as a gag. They then bundled him into the cave and started for the river. There was no difficulty in locating it. The roar of its dashing waters as they rushed on to the sea betrayed its whereabouts.

But, unfortunately, during the battle something had occurred which they had not foreseen. The red-faced man had slumbered serenely through it all. But, unseen by either of the boys during the struggle in the embers, a glowing brand had been cast upon his clothes. This had burned steadily on, fanned by the wind which swept through the canyon. Just as the boys vanished in the black shadows toward the river, the smoldering flame reached his flesh. With a yell, he wakened, on the alert in an instant, his slumber having cleared his fuddled brain of the effects of his carouse.

It took him scarcely a longer time than it had the Indian to perceive what had occurred. His first yell of pain had aroused the camp. Before the befuddled, red-faced individual had regained his wits entirely, the place was humming like an angry beehive.

With long-legged leaps, Simon Lake came bounding into the circle of light formed by the scattered embers.

“What in tarnation’s the matter, Tarbox, yer red-faced codfish?” he shouted.

“Matter enough,” roared back Zeb Hunt, who had been doing some rapid investigating. “Them boys has got away.”

“Got away!” echoed Simon Lake furiously, yet incredulously.

“Yep. Death’s trussed up like a Christmas turkey back thar in ther cave, an’ ther young varmints hes vamoosed.”

“Scatter, boys! After ’em!” bellowed Lake. “By Juniper, I’ll give a hundred dollars to the one that gets ’em.”

“Alive or dead?” asked one ruffian, with an ugly scar running from brow to chin down his weather-beaten face.

“Yes,” snarled Lake, “alive or dead. They know too much fer me ter lose ’em now. And then if they git loose all our plans go ter tarnation smash. Go on, Zeb, arter ’em. Git on the scent, my bullies. As for you,” grated out Lake, casting a terrible look at poor Tarbox, who had succeeded in extinguishing his clothes, “I’ll attend to you later.”

The fellow sank to his knees and began quivering out pleas for mercy. But Lake turned away with a savage laugh.

“You’ll blubber worse then that afor I git through with yer, by Chowder!”

As he spoke, from the direction of the river there came a sudden loud crack as if a branch had snapped under some one’s foot. Lake heard it, and was quick to guess its significance.

“Ther young varmits is in ther brush yonder, byes. Git ’em out. Arter ’em. Drag ’em out of thar!”

It sounded like the master of a pack of hounds urging on his charges to their work. In obedience to Bully Banjo’s shout and cries the searchers plunged into the brush, shouting and yelling to one another savagely.

Simon Lake was right when he imagined that the sudden sharp noise in the brush had been caused by the boys. It was Jack’s unlucky encounter with a dead limb half buried in dried leaves and debris that had caused it. The accident could not possibly have occurred at a more unfortunate moment for the boys.

Gritty lads as they were, both of them changed color and their pulses began to beat a tattoo as they heard the human bloodhounds break into full cry at the sound.

“Tom, I’m – I’m awfully sorry,” gasped Jack contritely.

“Rubbish, old fellow. How could you help it?” rejoined Tom. “Come on, we’ll beat them yet.”

“How?”

The question seemed a natural one. They were still some little distance from the river, in the midst of thick underbrush through which it was hard to proceed quickly without making a noise. The outlaws, on the other hand, probably knew of trails to the river bank. They might thread these quickly and arrive there ahead of the boys.

But they kept doggedly on. Tom had given no answer to Jack’s question. Time was too precious for that now, and breath, too. The great object was to reach the river bank first. Tom felt that once among its rugged rocks and intricate windings, interspersed as they were by dense brakes of brush, that they would stand at least a chance of getting away unobserved.

And now they reached the river bank. Through the darkness they could see the water rushing whitely along. In the midst of the white smother in front of them could be seen a darker blot. Tom guessed it to be a rock in mid-stream.

As he saw it a bold idea flashed into his mind. If they could jump and gain it, perhaps there was another rock beyond to which they could jump in turn, and so cross the stream and reach the other side in safety. In a few low breathless words he confided his plan to Jack. The younger boy, however, was not impressed by it.

“It’s all right for you, with your record for the broad jump, Tom,” he argued. “You could make it. But I don’t believe I could, and – ”

There was a sudden crackling and trampling in the brush behind them.

“Here they come,” exclaimed Tom. “It’s now or never. Are we going to try for it or wait here to be roped like two fool calves?”

Jack drew a deep breath.

“I’ll try it,” he said, gritting his teeth.

“Good boy!”

Tom’s hand fell with a tight squeeze on the younger lad’s shoulder.

“You’ll make it, never fear, Jack,” he went on encouragingly, as he threw off his coat and stepped back from the bank as far as possible.

“I’ll go first, and if I can make it, I’ll be on the rock to help you when you come.”

“But if you miss?” quavered Jack.

“But I won’t miss,” said Tom pluckily, although he felt by no means certain in his own mind. “I feel as confident as I did that day at Audubon when I got the broad jump away from Old Hickey. He – ”

“This way, boys. I hearn the varmints not a second ago!”

The voice, raucous and savage, came behind them. Its owner was still in the brush. They could hear his heavy-footed tramplings. But it warned them that the moment for action had arrived.

With a quick run, Tom reached the bank of the stream. Then up he shot and outward over the boiling, screaming waters, and – landed on the rock with six inches or more to spare. The great stone was wet and slippery, but he maintained his footing, and turned with a wave toward the shore.

As he did so a terrible fear shot into his heart. What if Jack’s nerve failed him at the last instant? Situated as Tom was, he would be powerless to help him, for to leap back to shore again would be an impossibility. Shout encouragement he dared not. All he could do was to wait, with the river roaring in the blackness all about him.

Suddenly ashore the night was split by a red flash and a sharp report sounded above the turmoil. Jack had been sighted and they were firing at him.

“Oh, Jack, why won’t you jump?”

The words were wrung from the Bungalow Boy as he stood upright on the wet rock, the spray of the racing river showering him till he was as drenched as his foothold. With burning eyes, he peered shoreward.

Suddenly over the water toward him came a figure. It was Jack. As he leaped three shots resounded behind him. Tom could feel the bullets whistle by. But they hardly arrived quicker than Jack.

It was well for him that Tom was there, for Jack’s jump was short. He fell, clutching at the wet rock. The water seized his legs and tried to whip him off in its mad current. But Tom’s strong hands had grasped his brother’s wrists before his hold gave way, and in less time than it takes to tell it Jack was beside him on the rock.

“Thank goodness, you’re safe,” breathed the elder lad, as Jack, panting, wet, and trembling from his exertion, stood beside him.

There was no time to exchange more words. As Tom spoke, several bullets came whizzing about them. Two or three hit the rock with a dull “pinging” sound.

Evidently their refuge had been spied from the shore and a better target than they presented it would be hard to imagine. So far the darkness had apparently intervened in their favor. Tom knew it would not protect them for long. Presently the men on shore would get the range.

He dragged Jack down till both lay flat on the rock, and together they slowly made their way across it.

Was there another such rock within jumping distance?

If there were not, the Bungalow Boys were in the most dangerous position they had ever occupied in their adventurous lives.

CHAPTER XI.
A LEAP FOR LIFE AND FREEDOM

Proceeding thus, with their hearts almost literally in their mouths and with nerves that throbbed painfully, the boys finally reached the side of the rock removed from the shore. To Tom’s huge delight, they found here, lighted dimly by a reflection from the white foam, a little ledge. By standing on this crouching as low as possible they would be safe enough from the bullets – that is, except one or more of the outlaws leaped to the rock. But this was extremely doubtful.

If two active boys like Tom and Jack Dacre had had great difficulty in doing so, it was hardly likely that the outlaws, men of irregular lives and clumsy movements, would be able to accomplish it.

A howl of surprise greeted the first knowledge the men on shore had of the disappearance of the boys, which came when their figures suddenly vanished from the rock. The general consensus of opinion following that was that they had fallen off and been swept to death in the swift current.

But an old fox like Bully Banjo was not the sort of man to leave the bank on that account. On the contrary, he determined to wait till daylight if necessary, and at that time he settled within himself, he would make certain if the boys had really drowned or if they had only found a spot on the rock where they could not be seen from the shore.

He ordered no move, but that the rock was to be watched, however. And so, in silent, dogged determination, the outlaws sat down to await the coming of the day. At last it began to grow faintly, dimly light. A nebulous chilly glow diffused itself through the canyon, bringing out its rough walls and their ragged, towering groups of pines and other conifers.

With the coming of day the men on the shore began to stir. Parties walked off along the rim of the stream in either direction, their purpose being to find, if possible, some trace of the boys.

In the meantime, the coming of the light had not, as Tom had hoped, revealed another rock between the one on which they stood and the shore. Instead, thirty feet or more of raging and, apparently, deep water lay between them and the other bank. It was impossible to jump it and already they were growing weak and faint from exposure and suspense.

The ledge was narrow, too, and slippery, and it was no small exertion in itself to keep a foothold on it for the length of time to which the lads had clung there. Both of them felt that they had almost reached the limit of their endurance. But neither of them wanted to admit it just then.

“I reckon they think ashore that we have drowned,” said Tom, at length, rightly fathoming the surmises of Simon Lake’s men. “If they knew what a fix we are in, they would start peppering again, I’ll bet.”

“To tell the truth,” said Jack, “I don’t see that we are in a much better position than we would be if we were ashore. We can tell by the voices that Lake’s men are on watch for us. If we show ourselves, it will be the signal for a fusillade.”

Tom shook his head.

“I don’t think so,” he said.

“Well, why not? They have us at their mercy.”

“That is just it,” responded Tom soberly. “As soon as we show ourselves, they will, of course, know that we are not drowned. That being the case, all they have got to do is to keep the rock covered. Why, if they want to, they could keep us here till starvation finishes us off.”

“Unless we swim for it,” put in Jack.

“Swim for it?” Tom laughed grimly, and pointed to the water about them. “How long could a fellow last in that?”

“Well, I’d try it before I’d give Lake the satisfaction of starving us out,” responded Jack grittily.

“Same here,” replied Tom, “but I’ve got another plan in my head. The only thing is I don’t know if the means for working it out will come along before we drop off here from starvation.”

“You don’t mean that you’ve figured out a way of getting off here?” gasped Jack.

“I have,” rejoined Tom, “but it’s a very remote chance that it will be successful. It depends on so many things.”

“Say,” demanded Jack, “you’re not thinking of trying the jump to the other bank – you’d never make it.”

“I know that. So we’ll just hang on here and wait for the one chance in a hundred that I’m looking for.”

“And that is – ”

“Well, you’ve noticed the logs that have been drifting by since it’s got daylight?”

“Yes.”

“Well, some of them have come quite close to this rock. If the worst comes to the worst – ”

“It’s done that already,” interrupted Jack.

“I agree with you. But why couldn’t we grab one and trust to luck to its floating us out of here?”

Jack gave a delighted cry. The water was roaring so loud that it was not necessary to observe caution about noise.

“Tom, old fellow, you are a wonder!” he exclaimed. “Why on earth didn’t I think of that? It’s the very thing if – ”

His face grew suddenly sober as he thought how much depended on that “if.”

“If the one chance in a hundred happens,” said Tom, gazing steadily up stream, “and, Jack, old boy, I believe that it is.”

“What!”

“Look up yonder, what’s that coming down the river?”

“Looks like a whole tree. It must have been uprooted in a freshet. Yes – it is a tree.”

“No, it isn’t, either.”

Jack looked at his brother in some amazement, but despite the seriousness of their predicament, he could not help smiling as the other went on:

“If things go right, that’s our boat.”

Breathlessly they watched the drifting tree as it was borne toward them on the crest of the current. It was a fairly large one, with a mass of roots sticking up at one end. Despite its size, the stream was carrying it along as if it had been a straw.

Almost before they knew it, the trunk was within a few feet of them.

“When I shout, don’t hesitate,” warned Tom, “for we’ll only have a second in which to act, and it’s our only chance.”

Jack nodded. With beating hearts and dry mouths, they watched the oncoming trunk. Suddenly it was borne off toward the other bank, out of all reach. A groan from Jack. But an eddy caught it the next instant and sent it hurling back again.

“It’s driving straight for us,” whispered Jack hoarsely.

Tom said nothing, but nodded to show he heard.

On came the tree, but as it was within a hand’s breadth of the rock, another eddy caught it and sent it staggering off again toward the other bank. But the boys were not going to be defeated by such an accident as that.

Bracing themselves, but still crouching so that their heads did not show above the rock, they jumped and landed in the tangle of roots. But, as might have been expected, their sudden weight had the effect of rolling the tree over. Submerged in the boiling current the two boys were hurried along.

Neither of them could tell you to this day how they escaped drowning, but they did.

Breathless, bruised, and with their clothes half torn from their backs, they succeeded in crawling around the roots till their heads were above the water. Helping each other, they struggled like two half-drowned flies till they succeeded in throwing themselves across the log so that it would not tip over completely. From time to time, though, it gave a lurch that threatened to topple them off altogether.

And so, half in and half out of the water, they shot from behind the shelter of the rock.

“Ther they be!” the shout went up from the shore, as Zeb Hunt’s sharp eyes espied the two clinging, half-submerged figures.

“The foxy young varmints! Let ’em hev it, byes!” yelled Simon Lake furiously.

But as the rifles were aimed, the tree was swung almost completely around by a sudden swing of the current, and the boys were borne out of range. The thick tangle of the roots hid them from the marksmen ashore.

The next instant, however, the capricious stream swung the log about once more. Instantly the white, racing water was flecked with bullets. Splinters from the ones which struck the tree showered about the boys. But either owing to the excitement of the riflemen, or to the erratic motions of the tree as it was tumbled along by the current, none of the bullets injured them. The next minute they would have been round a bend in the stream and safe from the rifles – at least, temporarily, when something occurred that made their hearts sink like lead.

The tree, which had been hitherto borne swiftly along, although in an eccentric course, grated, bumped, and then came to a stop.

A triumphant yell went up from the watchers on the shore as they saw it. They came running along the bank so as to pour in their fire from a position exactly opposite to the stranded tree.

“Quick, get round to the other side,” choked out Tom, blowing a stream of water out of his mouth.

Hand over hand among the roots, the lads at last succeeded in gaining the other side of the trunk. This put a thick barricade of solid timber between themselves and the riflemen.

“Now put your foot in the water and shove,” ordered Tom, suiting the action to the word. “This log is only stuck on a shoal. I think we can get her over if we try hard.”

They shoved till their muscles cracked, and at last, partly by their efforts and partly by the weight of the dammed-up water behind it, the great log quivered and then moved on.

This time it plunged into a deep, rapid pool that soon hurried it on, and almost before the boys knew it the shouts and shots behind them grew faint and then fainter, and finally died out altogether. Then, and only then, did they dare to raise themselves from their uncomfortable, not to say perilous, nooks among the roots and look out.

The first object Tom’s eyes fell upon was one calculated to make him withdraw his head instantly, like a turtle retreating into his shell.

The stream narrowed just ahead of them and roared between two walls of rock. On the summit of one of these rocks, standing where they must pass directly under him, was the sharply silhouetted figure of a man.

In his hands he grasped a rifle, seemingly ready for immediate action.