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CHAPTER X
A Hand-to-hand Encounter

While Joe lies senseless in the depths of the forest, lost entirely to his friends, and in as desperate a condition as he well could be, it will be as well to follow the footsteps of Mike and Hank as they dashed away in pursuit of Hurley. Both were well accustomed to the muskegs and the timbered lands of Canada, and, if only the truth were known, had before now been engaged in a similar expedition. But following a murderer during the daytime through such a place, and at a sedate pace, was entirely different from the same attempt at night, and all the while at such speed that precautions could not be taken.

"Ef that ain't the third time I've barged into a tree trunk and near had all the breath knocked out of my body," growled Mike, when he had progressed a mile, and was still well behind Hank. "Seems to me that we should ha' done better to sit down and wait till morning, or lit pine knots and then followed. Hank may do it; I shan't. This forest fairly beats me."

But Mike was a man possessed of wonderful perseverance and tenacity, and, in spite of the numerous occasions on which he blundered into trees, he held to the chase till he also, like Joe, lost his comrade. He stood listening for a sound to tell him where Hank was striding between the trees, then, hearing nothing after quite a long wait, the wary and experienced Mike sat down in the most comfortable attitude he could assume, dragged his ever-faithful pipe from his pocket, and, having filled and lit the weed, puffed away philosophically.

"Hurley ain't got nothing to fear from me, that's certain," he told himself, not without some amount of disappointment and bitterness. "But Hank is the boy to keep him running. The little chap is that hard, he could keep at it all night and right into to-morrow, and he'll stick to his man unless something clean throws him off the scent. For me, reckon I'm trapped here. I'll have a smoke and then a sleep. Early in the morning I'll consider things, and then push on or make back to the hut, as seems best."

Meanwhile Hank slid through the forest as only a practised hunter could have done. It was on this night expedition that he proved his worth, as also the value of an early training. For while Mike dashed so often against a tree, and we know that Joe had done so to his own injury, Hank seemed intuitively to know when a low-hung branch stretched across the path he was following. More than that, somehow he contrived to keep directly on the trail which Hurley was making.

"I'm getting closer," he told himself, when a whole hour had passed. "Any time now Hurley'll turn, and then, ef he don't climb down and cry out that he's beaten, I'll have to put lead into his carcass. That's him 'way ahead, making as much noise as a bull would ef he was gallopin' through the forest."

Loud bangs and crashes indeed told of Hurley's presence, for the trees carried every sound, and accentuated most. It may be imagined, therefore, that the sudden cessation of all noise astonished Hank considerably.

"Eh?" he asked himself, coming to a halt and standing perfectly still so as to listen the better. Not that Hank's breath was coming fast, as in the case of our hero; no, he was not even panting. His heart beats were scarcely increased in number in spite of his exertions, which only went to prove that constant training, correct diet, a good digestion, and a happy and contented mind are advantages possessed by men such as Hank who live their lives in the open. "Not so much as a sound," he told himself. "Now, what has happened? Seems to me likely that Hurley aer turned and ha' got his gun ready fer shootin'. Wall, an old bird same as me don't get frightened jest because lead may be flyin'. It wants a clever or a lucky man to make a hit in the darkness, specially when there's tree trunks all round to give a fellow cover. I'm going to move forward."

He drew back the hammer of his gun, for Hank was a conservative little fellow.

"None of yer new-fangled guns fer me," he had said more than once. "Mind you, I 'low as the new 'uns is fine, and has many advantages. A chap can load and fire twenty times perhaps while I am fiddling with this trigger. 'Sides, I've one myself, and know 'em well. But ef there ain't likely to be quick firin', give me this old thing."

Gripping the weapon in one hand, he bent double and went on stealthily, and in five minutes he had gained some fifty paces. But of Hurley there was no sign. The murderer gave no signal which told of his whereabouts, and though Hank stole on farther, still there was nothing to indicate where Hurley had got to.

"Fair beats the band," growled Hank, beginning to doubt his own powers of trackin'. "I'm past the spot where I last heard him, and I'm dead sure he ain't been within ten yards. Hurley aer a town man, and I'm game to say as he couldn't have sat so still as I should miss him. This fair puzzles me – oh!"

His keen ear heard something towards the left, then again there was silence, save for the murmur of the breeze playing amongst the leaves overhead. Hank slid in that direction promptly, only again he gave a gasp of astonishment, and finally one of extreme annoyance; for it seemed that he had missed Hurley's new path by but a very little. It is not to be wondered at that he had not always been able to follow the exact steps which the fugitive had taken, for he was tracking now not by signs conveyed to him by leaves and sticks and bushes, but by sound alone – the noise of the murderer as he broke his way through the underwood. When that had ceased, Hank had lost direction slightly. He had turned just a little to the right, whereas to the left, where Hurley had passed, there was a curious clearing. It was a broad glade, in fact the same through which the falling sun had sent its glancing rays to the surface of the lake. Clear of trees, thickly covered with grass, it offered a carpet which deadened all footsteps. No wonder that Hank had heard nothing. It was a fortunate matter, indeed, that some slight sound, perhaps his boot striking a pebble, had shown Hurley's position. Hank bounded into the glade as if he had been shot out of the forest.

"Thunder!" he growled. "Ef that ain't the cutest move of any as he's practised! He's made back towards the lake, that's fer certain. There ain't no use in waitin'."

Once more his gun was trailed, and this time, bent less low than formerly, the little hunter went speeding off in the direction Hurley had taken. Nor did the darkness trouble him, for whereas amongst the trees it had been intensely dark, here in the glade it was comparatively light, and a man with eyes such as Hank possessed could detect every obstruction.

We will leave him in pursuit of Hurley, and, having already shown Mike calmly smoking in his leafy retreat, will once more visit our hero. Joe was in a sad way, and it was, without shadow of doubt, a boon to him that collision with a tree knocked him senseless, for but a few moments before there had come to him that stupid, senseless frenzy which comes to those who are lost. Even the brave man is not proof against that frenzy. Sudden, nameless terror snatches at him; the very silence mocks him, while calmness and reason, virtues of which he may well have been the proud possessor earlier, leave him as if he were a leper. Distraction, desperate and hopelessly unavailing effort follow, and finally there comes exhaustion. The unhappy wretch who is entirely lost may become calm when strength has left him, and die merely from want of food and water; but more often madness is the enemy which finally accounts for his ending.

It was as well, therefore, for Joe that a severe blow on the head drove all sense and knowledge from him. He lay like a log for hours, and if we describe his condition faithfully, we must declare that the blow was not entirely responsible. Joe was fagged out with his long efforts; it happened, therefore, that a deep, refreshing sleep followed upon the unconsciousness produced by collision, and carried him well on into the morning. The shaded rays of a risen sun were streaming in upon his leafy prison when he finally opened his eyes.

"Hallo! Hank!" he called, and, getting no reply, turned to stare about him. "My word, don't my head hurt just! Now, how's that? Why, if – Where am I?"

His brain was still muddled, though wonderfully refreshed, and for quite a little while he sat thinking, trying to remember exactly what had happened. Then the knowledge of his true position came to him – he was lost in the forest.

"And made a fine ass of myself, to be sure," he cried, remembering his fears of the previous evening.

"Lost my head; got scared at the silence, and then went barging right and left. This is the dickens of a muddle. Here am I, goodness knows where. Anyway, in Canada, I'm dead certain."

That set him laughing – for Joe was a merry fellow – moreover, the warm rays of the sun streaming down upon him, together with the fact that the past few days had accustomed him to his surroundings, cheered him wonderfully. He began to whistle, an old habit, and then recollected that he was hungry.

"I'll be better for some food, that's certain," he told himself. "I can't think properly as yet. But there's one thing I am sure of – I behaved like a child of two last night. I clean lost my head, and am jolly glad there wasn't anyone else here to watch me. My, how Hank would laugh, and Fennick too! Wonder how he and his wife are doing, and Jim and Claude too. Wonder, also, whether Hurley's captured."

Quite accidentally his hand fell into the bag which he had suspended over his shoulder, and it was with a gasp of pleasure that he remembered that provisions were inside. Joe dragged them out, and, just to show his independence, gathered some sticks and lit a fire. Water was what he wanted now, and a search for that commodity told him still more of his own condition of mind on the previous evening; for his way took him along the track he had himself formed, and presently he came to a part which looked very much as if a circus horse had been driven there, and forced to carry out all sorts of evolutions. Tracks led through the underwood to right and left, crossed one another, and joined sometimes so that two or three were side by side. In one he came upon his rifle, a find which caused him pleasure; but where the outlet was, in what direction he had been coming when he reached this spot, Joe could discover not the smallest inkling.

"Anyway, there's water," he said, filling the kettle which he carried slung to his belt, and which had received a sad battering in the forest. "Jolly glad I've got the tea – that'll put life into me – then I'll have to think this matter out; shouldn't wonder if a shot wouldn't bring an answer."

It was a brilliant idea, and cheered him wonderfully. Let us say, too, that Joe needed cheering. In spite of his undoubted courage, and of a naturally cheery disposition, the terror of the intense silence of his huge prison sometimes almost got the better of him. It was with an obvious effort that he beat down the feeling. Retracing his steps to the fire and busying himself with his cooking preparations helped him wonderfully, and when at length he had swallowed a hot cup of tea and had eaten a couple of grilled slices of meat he felt distinctly better.

"I'll try a shot now," he told himself, "then I'll think matters out. I wonder in what direction I came – beats me hollow."

He was in the act of loading, for he had withdrawn the cartridge popped into his gun on the previous evening, when a sound suddenly reached his ears and caused him to sit bolt upright.

"Eh?" he asked himself. "Hank or Mike or Fox perhaps. Hope so."

There it was again, the noise made by a man thrusting a way through the underwood. Joe gathered up his belongings, stamped out the fire, and went off in that direction. Bang! Crash! He heard the noise time and again, and getting nearer. It seemed, indeed, as if someone were coming towards him. Perhaps five minutes later, when, convinced of the fact, he had thrown himself down to wait and watch, the figure of a man came into view, seen somewhat indistinctly between the maze of leaves and branches.

"Mike!" thought Joe. "About his size. No; too small, though it's a big man but less bulky than Mike. Can't be Hank. Then who is it? Hurley!"

The knowledge that the murderer was actually before him sent a rush of blood to Joe's head. His ears throbbed and buzzed, his pulses beat spasmodically, while his heart thundered against his ribs.

"Hurley!"

Joe climbed silently to his feet and raised his rifle. He now could see the man approaching him better, and could no longer have any doubt as to who it was. It was, without a question, the murderer whom he had fought outside the shack in defence of Tom, the very man Hank and his fellows, with Mike, the policeman, had been following now for such a time.

"Hurley! Still escaping! Then Hank failed to get him! Where's his gun?"

Joe peered through the leaves and branches, and presently caught a glimpse of the weapon which it was known the murderer carried. He bore it before him, fending brambles away with it as he went. That gun, no doubt, was loaded, and Hurley still able and willing to slay anyone who dared to intercept him. What was Joe to do? Let him go? Funk the business, or call to him and chance a bullet?

"Nasty thing if he hit me here; nobody would know. I might be badly wounded and help never reach me. Rotten that, very!"

Joe shivered. We are describing his feelings and his actions with the utmost truth and fairness, and truth compels us to say that he shivered. He looked about him doubtfully, seeing nothing but leaves and waving branches and underwood, with the figure of a man he knew to be already a murderer breaking a path through the forest quite near at hand, while a rifle was borne prominently before him. Bear in mind, too, that Joe had had a terrifying experience already, that he still bore a wound given by the bully, while his scalp was sore and his brain still dizzy with the collisions he had experienced on the previous evening.

"He'll miss me by fifteen feet," said Joe, measuring the distance with his eye. "If I like to stay quiet he'll be by in a jiffy, and then – then I'll be safe!"

He could have kicked himself for the thought; the blood flew to his cheeks again and shamed him. He clenched his teeth and bobbed his head higher.

"Frightfully tempting to funk the meeting," he told himself wrathfully; "but I'll not be such a coward.

"Hurley!" he shouted.

The man stopped abruptly, his eyes shooting into sudden prominence.

"Hands up!" bellowed Joe, keeping well hidden. "Hands up or – "

There was a loud report which reverberated through the wood, while a rattle overhead told its tale unpleasantly. A shower of severed leaves sprayed on to Joe's head, while he listened to a curious click with which soldiers are familiar.

"Loading again – might get me next time. Shall I plug him?" he asked himself.

Very cautiously he lifted his rifle, and with it his head, which he had ducked at Hurley's shot. But where was the man? There was no sign of him. He had disappeared entirely.

"Dropped down where he was, and is waiting and watching. Dead certain he isn't moving," said Joe, "or I'd hear him. I'll wait and watch too."

Presently his patience was rewarded. A black sleeve came into view – only a tiny triangle showing – then the muzzle of the weapon. Joe levelled his own on the sleeve and called again loudly.

"Drop that gun, Hurley," he shouted roughly, "or take the consequences!"

The answer came so swiftly that he was astonished, and once again our hero had the unpleasant feeling of a bullet passing within close distance of him. Under the circumstances it required nerve to kneel a little higher, take aim just a foot below the spot where he had seen that sleeve, and press his own trigger. Then, like a dart, he sprang away, and within a moment was located behind a stout birch tree, which gave excellent cover.

"Got him, I think," he gasped. "There was a shout directly I fired. Wonder if I killed him?"

The thought set his ears tingling and a nasty cold feeling down the centre of his back. Joe wasn't bloodthirsty by any means. He hated the very thought of killing a man; but here it was decidedly a case of Hurley or himself. Softness and pity would be thrown away on such a villain; the smallest advantage allowed would certainly end in his own undoing. It was with the utmost caution, then, that our hero peeped out from behind cover, while his fingers were busily employed in thrusting a fresh cartridge into his rifle. Moreover, he listened eagerly for any sound which might tell him that Hurley was moving. Joe had, in fact, an artful and cunning foe to deal with, and quickly found that he was very far from effecting his purpose, also that the murderer was by no means likely to give in without a struggle. For as he peeped from behind the shelter of his tree a figure rose suddenly, a weapon was fired, and at the same instant down went the figure.

"Thunder!" he exclaimed, using an exclamation which Hank was in the habit of employing. "That was a near one; chipped a nice little piece out of the bark of the tree and – yes, perforated the butt of my rifle."

Very cautiously he peered round the tree again, and then, with a sudden feeling of elation, caught sight of a black object slowly rising above the undergrowth. Joe dropped his sights on it and pressed the trigger steadily; but, to his amazement, the black object continued to rise for the space of a few seconds, then it dropped just as suddenly out of view.

"Huh!" he grunted. "A decoy! Lifted his coat on a stick and drew my fire. Two can play at that game."

But even if he were to follow Hurley's example, caution and cunning were still required. Joe dropped on to hands and knees and then spread himself face downwards on the ground. In that position he wormed his way along some three yards to the right, where he again took cover behind a tree, and on this occasion he lifted his head with the greatest care.

"He'll be watching the tree where I was located," he told himself, "and if I wait a little he'll show himself, seeing that I don't put in an appearance. Then will be the time to aim straight, for I am sure that if I don't take the fullest advantage of every opportunity he will shoot me down."

"That 'ere young cub that was the cause of most of my trouble," growled Hurley, as he lay on the ground awaiting developments. "Wall, it might ha' been wuss; I kin knock him out easy ef I'm just ordinarily cautious, then there won't be no one in the way. I'll double the hull way back – that's what I'll do – get along to the railway, and board a freight train. Down by Niagara Falls there won't be no difficulty in hoppin' across the suspension bridge, and afore these fools is much the wiser I'll be hid up in Buffalo."

His keen eye detected Joe's new position, and, watching closely, he soon saw a portion of the latter's clothing projecting from behind the tree. Up went his rifle, and an instant later the clothing fell to the ground. With a shout of triumph, Hurley stood to his feet, only to drop back again like a stone; for Joe was undamaged. He had merely played Hurley's trick upon himself, and now that the opportunity had come to him, he stood out from cover and fired direct at the man. Unfortunately, however, he was too late, his bullet tearing on through the undergrowth.

"The young cuss!" growled Hurley, startled by his narrow escape. "But I'll get even with him yet. Ef he can play a game same as that, see me foller."

He thought it all out as he lay there in the underwood, and then once again selected a suitable portion of a fallen branch. This time it was his wide-brimmed hat which he raised slowly above the leaves and ferns. But though Hurley peered from amidst the tangle of boughs and leaves, he could see no sign of our hero. It was an intense surprise to him when there came a flash and a loud report from the left, from an altogether different position, while his hat twiddled round on the branch he had thrust into it.

"Jingo! He's shootin'!" he told himself, with a growl. "Lucky my head warn't in there. But I ain't done, not by a long way. I'll try the trick agin, and then I fancy I shall have a surprise fer that 'ere Britisher."

Very slowly he proceeded to elevate his hat again, and this time so soon after the last that he guessed that Joe would hardly have had time to change his position. So that it was again a shock to find a bullet swishing rather from the right. However, Hurley was a man with an iron nerve; moreover, he knew what awaited him should he be captured. Straightway leaping to his feet and trusting to Joe not having had time to reload, he dashed into the bush and, seeing our hero, threw himself upon him furiously. Nor did he deign to make use of his own weapon. Dropping it as if it were no longer of use, he gripped Joe with both hands and, swinging him aloft as he had done once before, he prepared to hurl him against a tree. Indeed, he almost carried out that intention; but Joe managed to curl in his legs and so escape.

"You're jest about dead this time," gasped Hurley. "You'd have done far better to have stayed right at home with the kids, which are yer place, than have come out here to take grown men. That'll finish it."

But the second swing he gave didn't finish the matter. Joe was a tougher foe to deal with than Hurley imagined, for, locking his arms round the murderer, he defied his every effort to lift him. But all the while he was conscious of the fact that the man was a great deal stronger than he, and that unless he could deal him a vital blow, his own chances were far from good. It was at this critical moment, when the two were once more struggling fiercely and had rolled to the ground, that a man came darting through the underwood. Dashing up to the combatants, he placed the muzzle of his old gun against the murderer's head and called loudly on him to surrender.

"You may jest as well throw it up, Hurley," he said, with wonderful coolness, "fer I guess you're cornered. 'Sides, ef you're troublesome you're like to get the sort o' dustin' a feller don't take to kindly. So jest turn it up. Joe, get a hold of his rifle. Now, my man, you stand there agin the tree and don't try hanky-panky. I ain't particular whether it's the law that deals with yer or me. Savvy?"

Hurley did; he unloosed his grip of our hero promptly and, now that the tables were turned, stood cowed and subdued in front of Hank, eyeing his old muzzle-loader askance. As for Hank, he grinned at Joe.

"It war a near call, lad," he said. "Strange that it should be you as really cornered him. But keep yer eye on him and yer finger on your trigger. There ain't never no saying when he'll be up to games, though it won't be often he'll play 'em once Mike's up. He could lift this hulkin' feller as ef he war a baby, and my, wouldn't he give him sauce!"

Some twenty minutes later Fox put in an appearance, and after him Mike. Hurley was promptly secured, his hands being bound behind his back, for Mike had lost his handcuffs, while a stout cord was passed from the lashings and secured to Fox's wrist. Then the party wended their way through the forest, and in a wonderfully short space of time came to the hut in which Hurley had taken refuge. Here their comrades joined them in the evening.

"It war a close call," said Peter, when he had heard of Joe's adventure; "but I ain't quite clear as to how it come about that you was out there in the forest all alone. Spin us the yarn."

"I was lost, that's the simple explanation," answered Joe, telling them how he had dashed hither and thither in a frenzy, and how a collision with a tree had in the end sent him senseless to the ground. "And a mighty big bump I've got to show for it," he added ruefully.

"You're jest mighty lucky to have one to show at all, young feller," growled Hank. "I ain't been in these parts without meeting with similar cases. I've known young fellers, and oldish men too, go off into the timber and never come back. I've seed a ghost of one crawl back after a week, and he as mad as a hatter. What's more, I know what the feelin' of bein' lost is. An old hunter same as me don't never feel like that. When I war young it war different. Nowadays I could find my way out anywhere. I'd do as you did, doss down fer the night – so I reckon that blow you got war lucky, – then, when morning came, I'd watch fer the sun, and I'd go ahead always in one direction; but it seems to me as ef supper war ready."

"One moment," said Joe. "How was it you came upon the scene so opportunely, Hank?"

"How? Jest like this, and simple enough. This 'ere Hurley give me the slip, and shot out into a glade. Wall, a bit of a rattle as he passed over a stony patch told me the direction he had taken, and precious soon I had picked up his traces again. Seems he took to the lake, straddling a log he found there and pushing out. But the wind war on this shore and brought him back. Early this mornin' I dropped on his traces and found as he'd turned south. Mike come along with Fox at the same moment, and reckon we set out fer all we war worth. It war then that we heard a shot, and then others. That set me movin', and – wall, that's all."

He closed up like an oyster, and actually blushed when Joe continued. "Not all, Hank," he said earnestly; "you saved my life. I'm grateful."

"Gee! Ef I ain't that hungry!" shouted Hank, springing to his feet hurriedly. "George, ain't you got them steaks frizzled yet?"

"Ready," came the answer, while George held a stick to which the steaks were skewered aloft.

"Then we'll eat," growled Hank, as if he had recently had a quarrel with our hero; "and mind, there ain't no more gassin'."

"He aer fair set on you," whispered Peter, after the meal, taking Joe aside. "He knew you was in trouble, and I tell you he wouldn't rest. All night he war searchin' for your traces, and ef he hadn't bustled, guess he'd have reached you too late. Hank aer the queerest little morsel as ever I set eyes on."

"He's a fine fellow," declared Joe eagerly. "Some day I'll get even with him."

The following morning they mounted again, and in due course reached the settlements, where the party divided.

"Hank's comin' along to stay with us," said Peter. "How's that, young 'un?"

"Ripping!" Joe meant it; he had taken a huge fancy to the little hunter, and hoped, if he were lucky, to learn a great deal more from him.

"You'll do that right enough," laughed Peter, when our hero told him. "Hank aer a troublesome feller. It ain't often that I hear of him that he ain't been in some adventure. Jest you watch to see that he don't drag you in too. I don't altogether trust the little varmint."

"Drat the man!" exclaimed Mrs. Strike. "Joe was a steady worker afore he came here; but now, bless us! he's always wantin' to be off into the wilds and forests."

And go Joe did. He worked all through the summer and autumn, helping Peter to get in his harvest, and learning much about farming; then, leaving Tom, the lad for whom he had fought, as Peter's man in his place, he packed his bag and rode off with Hank on a prospecting expedition.