Kitabı oku: «Tom Fairfield's Hunting Trip: or, Lost in the Wilderness», sayfa 8
CHAPTER XXI
SKEEL REVEALS HIMSELF
“Shall we loosen him up now?” asked the voice of one of the men. Tom could still see nothing, as the bag remained over his head.
“Yes, take off the headgear, and ungag him,” answered Skeel. “It won’t matter if he does holler up here. No one will hear him. But keep his hands tied, except when we feed him.”
Tom felt a sudden sense of elation in spite of his most uncomfortable position. At least he was going to get something to eat, and he needed it, for he felt nearly famished.
“Is the door locked?” asked one of the men.
“I attended to that,” was Skeel’s answer. “He can’t get away from here.”
“We’ll see about that,” mused Tom. “I’ll have a good try, at any rate, the first chance I get.”
He felt the fastenings of the bag being loosed, and when it was taken off, he looked about him quickly. The first glance was enough to tell him, if he had not already been sure of it, that he was in some shack where he had never been before. This was not the deserted cabin where he and his chums had spent the night. Tom glanced toward the windows, hoping to get a glimpse outside so he might determine his position, but there were dirty curtains over the casements.
His next glances were directed toward the men themselves, though he was already sure, in his own mind, who they were. Nor was his judgment reversed.
There stood Skeel, a grin of triumph in his ugly face, and there were the two other men, of evil countenance, whom Tom had seen with the erstwhile professor.
“We’re going to take the gag out of your mouth,” said Skeel to his prisoner. “We don’t want to hurt you any more than we have to, but we’re going to have you do as we say, and not as you want to. You can yell, if you like, but you’ll only be wasting your breath. This is a good way from nowhere, up here, and you won’t be heard. You can’t get away, because one of us will be on guard all the while. I tell you this to save you trouble, for I know you, and I know that you’ll make a row if you possibly can,” and Skeel stuck out his jaw pugnaciously. He and Tom Fairfield had been in more than one “row” before.
“Take it off, Murker,” the former instructor said to the worse-looking of his two helpers. “Let’s see if he’ll yelp now.”
It was a relief to Tom to have the bunch of not overly-clean rags taken from his mouth. His tongue and jaws ached from the pressure and now he sighed in relief.
Tom Fairfield was not foolish. He had already made up his mind to do all he could to circumvent the plans of the plotters, and he was going to begin as soon as possible. He did not altogether believe Skeel when the latter said that shouting would do no good, but Tom did not intend to try, at once, that method of getting help.
He wanted to rest his throat from the strain, and he wanted to see how best to direct his voice in case he did feel like shouting. He had no doubt but what if he cried out for help now, the gag would be put back in his mouth. And that he did not want. He wanted to eat, and oh! how he did long for a drink of cold water.
“Guess he isn’t going to yap,” murmured the man known as Murker.
“So much the better,” said Skeel. “Now you can loosen those ropes on his legs. He can’t get away.”
Tom wished, with all his heart, that they would loosen the bonds on his hands and arms, but he stubbornly resolved to stand the pain those cords gave him, rather than ask a favor of any of the trio of scoundrels.
He simply could not endure his thirst and hunger any longer. He tried to speak – to ask at least for a glass of water, for the men could not be so altogether heartless as to refuse what they would give to a dumb beast. But Tom’s throat was so parched and dry that only a husky sound came forth.
“Guess he wants to wet his whistle,” suggested Whalen.
“Well, get him a drink then,” half-growled Skeel. “Then we’ll talk business.”
Tom thought nothing ever tasted so good as that draught of water from the cracked teacup one of the men brought in from another room, and held up to his lips. It was better than nectar ever could be, he was sure.
“How about a little grub?” asked Murker.
“Oh, he could have it, I guess,” Skeel replied. “Guess they didn’t any of ’em have much. They were away from their camp all night, you say, and there wasn’t anything in the old shanty.”
“That’s right,” assented Whalen.
Then Tom realized that he and his companions had been spied upon, just as Jack had so strangely suspected. They had also been followed, it was evident, for the men knew of the movements of himself and his chums.
“I meant grub for all of us,” went on Murker. “I’m a bit hungry myself, and it’s about time for dinner.”
“All right – get what you want,” assented Skeel. “And give him some. One of you can sit by him, and take off the ropes while he eats. But watch him – he’s like a cat – quick!”
Tom felt like smiling at this tribute to his prowess, but he refrained. It was no time for laughter.
“I’ve got a bit of writing to do,” Skeel went on. “You fellows can eat if you like. I’ll take mine later.”
“All right,” assented Whalen. “But what about – well, you know what I mean,” and he rubbed his fingers together to indicate money.
“I’ll attend to that,” said Skeel, a bit stiffly. “You mind your own affairs!”
“Oh, no offense!” said Whalen, quickly. “I only wanted to know.”
“You’ll know soon enough,” was the retort, as the former teacher moved toward another room.
“Well, I’m in on this too. Don’t forget that!” exclaimed Murker, and there seemed to be menace in his tones.
“Oh, don’t bother me!” answered Skeel, apparently a bit irritated.
Evidently the feeling among the conspirators was not as friendly as it might have been. It was very like a dissention, and Tom wondered if the truth of the old adage was to be proved, “When thieves fall out, honest men get their dues.”
“I hope it proves so in my case,” Tom reflected. “But first I would like something to eat. And I wish the others had some, too. I wonder where they are now, and what they think of me?” Professor Skeel went into another room, and closed the door after him. Murker also went into another apartment – there seemed to be three rooms, at least, on the first floor of the cabin – and presently the evil-faced man came back with a platter on which were some chunks of cold meat and bread. It looked better to Tom, half famished as he was, than a banquet would have seemed – even a surreptitious midnight school-feed.
“Help yourself,” growled Murker, as he set the platter down in front of Tom, on a rough table, and loosed the bonds of our hero’s arms.
“Guess I’ll have a bit myself,” murmured Whalen.
“Go on,” mumbled Murker, his mouth half full. “The boss will eat later, I reckon.”
Tom reflected that by the “boss” they must mean Skeel.
As for the young hunter, he eagerly took some of the bread and meat. It was cold, but it was good and nourishing, and seemed to have been well cooked. It put new life into Tom at once. He would have liked a cup of coffee, but there seemed to be none. Perhaps the men would make some later. Tom certainly hoped that they would do so.
The men ate fast – almost ravenously, and Tom was not at all slow himself. He did not realize what an appetite he had until he saw the victuals disappearing.
Then, when the edge of his hunger had been a little dulled and blunted, to say the least, Tom once more began wondering why he had been caught and brought as a prisoner to the lonely hut.
“What’s the game?” he asked himself.
He was soon to know.
“Well, if you fellows have had enough, and he’s been fed, tie up his hands again,” said Skeel, coming from the room just then. “I want to have a talk with him. You can wait outside,” he added, when the ropes had once more been put on Tom’s hands and arms.
Skeel waited until the men had left the hut. Then, locking the door after them, the former teacher confronted Tom. Up to now our hero had said nothing. He believed in a policy of silence for the time being.
“Well, what do you think of yourself now?” sneered Skeel, folding his arms. “You’re not so smart as you thought you were, are you?”
“I haven’t begun to think yet,” said Tom, coolly. “But I would like to know why you have brought me here – by what right?”
“By the right of – might!” was the answer. “I’ve got you here, and here I’m going to keep you until your father pays me a ransom of ten thousand dollars. That will square accounts a little, and make up for some of the things you did to me. It’s you against ten thousand dollars, and I guess your father would rather pay up than see you suffer. Now I’ll get down to business,” and he drew up a chair and sat down in front of Tom.
CHAPTER XXII
AN ANXIOUS SEARCH
George Abbot had the luck of finding the road for which he and his chums had all vainly sought so long in the storm. It will be remembered that the four boys had started in different directions, corresponding to the different points of the compass, to search for a route, either back to the hut where they had spent the night, or to one of the three camps.
And it was George who found the road.
True he did not know which road it was at the time, but when he had stumbled on through the drifting snow, fighting his way against the storm for some time, he fairly tumbled down a little embankment, rolling over and over.
“Well, what’s this?” George asked himself, rather dazed, as he rose to his feet.
He had his answer in a moment.
“It’s a road – I hope it’s the road,” he went on, as he saw that the little declivity down which he had fallen was where the road had been cut through a hill, leaving a slope on either side of the highway.
“I must signal to the others at once,” George decided. His gun had slipped from his grasp when he fell, but he now picked up the weapon, and fired two shots in quick succession. It was the signal agreed upon.
The wind was blowing hard, and George was not sure that the sound of the shots would carry to his chums. He did not know just how far they were from him. So, after waiting a bit, he strolled down the snow-covered road a bit, and fired again. He repeated this three times, at intervals, before he heard an answering shot. Then he raised his voice in a yell, and soon was relieved to be joined by Jack.
“What is it?” Jack asked.
“The road – I’ve found it,” George answered.
“Where’s Bert – and Tom?”
“Haven’t seen either of them.”
“Well, they’re probably looking yet. We’ll fire some more shots and bring ’em up.”
George and Jack fired at intervals, the signal each time being two rapid shots, but it was some time before they had an answer. It finally came in the shape of another shot, followed quickly by a shout.
“It’s Bert,” said George.
“Sounded more like Tom,” was his chum’s guess. While they waited, they exchanged experiences. Jack told of vainly floundering about in the drifts, while George had better news to impart.
“I fairly stumbled on the road,” he said.
“Any way at all, as long as you found it,” said Jack. “Here comes someone now.”
It proved to be Bert, who staggered up through the storm, himself almost a living snowball.
“Found anything?” he gasped, for he was quite “winded.”
“The road,” answered George.
“Where’s Tom?” asked Jack.
“Why, isn’t he with you?” asked Bert, in some surprise. “I haven’t seen anything of him.”
“He’s probably off searching for a highway,” said George, hopefully. “We’ll fire a few more shots.”
They fired more than a few, but received no response from Tom, and we well know the reason why, though his chums did not at the time.
“Well, what had we better do?” asked Jack, at length. “I’m about all in, and I guess you fellows feel about the same.”
“I would like something to eat,” admitted Bert.
“And I’m terribly cold,” confessed George, who was shivering.
“Well, let’s look about a bit on either side of this road, then go up and down it a ways, and keep firing and shouting,” suggested Jack. “We may find Tom. If we don’t – well, I think we’d better see where this road goes.”
They adopted that plan, but though they shouted vigorously, and fired many shots, there came no answer from Tom.
The exercise and the shouting, however, had one good result. It warmed George so he was no longer in danger of coming down with pneumonia.
“Well, it’s six of one and a half dozen of the other,” said Bert, at length. “What shall we do, and which way shall we go on this road to get to camp?”
“We’d better try to find one of the cabins,” said Jack. “And I think this direction seems to be the most likely,” and he pointed to the left.
“Go ahead; I’m with you,” said Bert, and George nodded assent.
“What about Tom, though?” asked George, anxiously.
“Well, we can’t find him. He may have gone on ahead, or he may still be searching for a road. In either case he’s too far off for us to make him hear – that’s evident. And we may find him just as well by trying to make our way back to camp as staying here,” said Jack.
So it was decided to do this, and off they started. The storm did not seem quite so fierce now. In fact, there were indications that the fall of snow was lessening. But a great deal had fallen, making walking difficult. The cold was intense, but it was a dry cold, not like the damp, penetrating air of New Jersey, and the boys stood it much better.
They had not gone far before Jack uttered a cry.
“Here he comes! There’s Tom!” he shouted, pointing at a figure advancing toward them through the mist of flakes that were still falling, but more lazily now.
“It’s someone, but how do you know it’s Tom?” asked Bert.
“Who else would it be?” Jack wanted to know.
“It might be – Skeel,” suggested George.
“Or that – bear!” and, as he said this, Bert advanced his gun.
“Nonsense – that’s no bear!” exclaimed Jack. “It isn’t Tom though, either,” he added, as the figure came nearer.
A moment later they all saw at once who it was.
“Sam Wilson!” exclaimed Bert. “That’s good! Now he can tell us what to do, and where Tom is. Hello, Sam!” he called, for that was how everyone addressed the genial guide – even those who had met him only once or twice.
“Hello yourselves!” Sam answered in greeting. “What are you fellows doing here?”
“We’ve been lost, and we’ve just found ourselves,” explained Jack. “We’re on our way to Camp No. 3.”
“Oh, no, you’re not!” exclaimed Sam, smiling.
“Why not?” Bert wanted to know.
“For the simple reason that you’re on your way to Camp No. 2,” answered Sam. “You’re going the wrong way for Camp No. 3.”
“Well, maybe we are twisted,” admitted Jack, “but as long as we’re headed for some camp, I don’t care what it is.
“We’ve been out all night,” he added, “or at least sheltered in only an old cabin. We haven’t had anything to-day but some coffee, and we’re about done out. Isn’t this storm fierce?”
“Oh, we’re used to these up here in the Adirondacks,” spoke Sam.
Then the boys told how they had been out hunting and had seen the signpost that informed them it was seven miles to Ramsen.
“But you went the wrong way!” exclaimed Sam, when he had heard the details. “Ramsen was in just the opposite direction.”
“Then the signboard was wrong!” declared Jack.
“That’s funny,” Sam spoke, musingly. “Signboards don’t change themselves that way. There’s something wrong here.”
“Well, never mind that,” went on Bert. “Have you seen anything of Tom Fairfield?”
“Tom Fairfield! Why, I thought he was with you!” exclaimed Sam, quickly looking around.
“He was, but we separated to find the road,” explained George, “and now we can’t locate Tom.”
“Well, this won’t do,” Sam spoke, and his voice was serious. “We will have to hunt for him right away. He hasn’t had anything to eat, you say?”
“None of us have,” said Jack. “That’s why we were so glad to find some sort of road.”
“Well, I’ve got my pung back there a piece,” said the guide. “I have some grub in it that I was taking over to your Camp No. 2. I can give you a snack from that, and then we’ll do some searching for the boy. I like Tom Fairfield!”
“So do I!” exclaimed Jack, and the others nodded emphatic agreements, with a chorus of:
“That’s what!”
Never did food taste so good as that which Sam brought up from his pung. He explained that he had walked on ahead while his horses were eating their dinners from nose-bags.
“And it’s lucky for you fellows I did,” he said, “though of course you might have stumbled on the camp yourselves. But now for a search.”
And with anxious hearts the boys took it up. Where could Tom Fairfield be? That was a question each one asked himself.
CHAPTER XXIII
DEFIANCE
Tom, a bound prisoner, watched the insolent professor who sat facing him. The latter had on his face a sneer of triumph, but mingled with it, as Tom could note, was a look that had in it not a little fear. For the desperate man had planned a desperate game, and he was not altogether sure how it would work out.
Tom steeled himself to meet what was coming. He did not know what it was, but that it was something that would concern himself, vitally, he was sure. And he was better prepared to meet what was coming than he had been an hour or so previous.
For now, though he was a prisoner, and bound, he was warm, and he had eaten. These things go far toward making courage in a man, or boy either, for that matter.
“Now,” said Professor Skeel, and the sneer on his face grew more pronounced, “we’ll talk business!”
“Oh, no, we won’t!” exclaimed Tom, quickly.
“We won’t?” and there was a sharp note in the man’s voice.
“I’ll have nothing to do with you,” went on Tom. “You brought me here against my will, and you are liable to severe penalties for what you did. As soon as I can get to an officer, I intend to cause your arrest, and the arrest of those two miserable tools of yours.
“I’m not at all afraid – don’t think it. You can’t keep me here for very long. Sooner or later I’ll get out, and then I’ll make it hot for you! That’s just what I’ll do – I’ll make it hot for you!”
During this little outburst on the part of Tom, Professor Skeel sat staring at his prisoner. He did not seem at all frightened by what Tom said, though the young man put all the force he could into his words. But Tom was observant. He noticed that the little look of worry did not leave the man’s face.
“I’ll make it so hot for you,” went on Tom, “that you’ll have to leave this part of the country. You’ll have to leave if you get the chance, and perhaps you won’t. My father and I will push this case to the end. I don’t know what your game is, but I can guess.”
“Well, since you can guess, perhaps you can guess what I’m going to do with you!” angrily interrupted the professor.
“No, I can’t, exactly,” spoke Tom, slowly, “but if it’s anything mean or low-down, you’ll do it. I know you of old. I’ve had dealing with you before.”
“Yes, and you’re going to have more!” the professor fairly shouted. “I’m going to get even with you for what you did for me. You caused me to lose my place at Elmwood Hall – ”
“You deserved to lose it!” said Tom, cuttingly.
“And you mistreated me when we were out in that open boat – ”
“Mistreated you!” fairly gasped Tom, amazed at the man’s hardness of mind. “Mistreated you, when you tried to steal the little water and food we had left!”
He could say no more. His mind went back vividly to the days of the wreck of the Silver Star, when he and others had been in great peril at sea. He had indeed prevented the professor from carrying out his evil designs, though Tom was not more harsh than needful. But now he was to suffer for that.
“I’ve got you where I want you,” went on Skeel, when Tom had become silent. “I’ve laid my plans well, and you fell into the trap. I won’t deny that the storm helped a lot, but I’ve got you now, and you’re going to do as I say, or it will be the worse for you. You’ll do as I say – ”
“Don’t be too sure!” interrupted Tom.
“That’s enough!” snapped the angry man. “You may not realize that you are in my power, and that you’re up here in a lonely part of the woods, away from your friends. They don’t know where you are, and you don’t know where they are. They can’t help you. Those two men of mine will do as I say, and – ”
“Oh, I’ve no doubt but that you’ve trained them well in your own class of scoundrelism,” said Tom, coolly.
“Silence!” fairly shouted the infuriated man. Tom ceased his talk because he chose, not because he was afraid.
Professor Skeel hesitated a moment, and then drew from his pocket some papers. Tom was at a loss to guess what they might be. In fact, he had but a dim idea why he had been captured and brought to the hut in the wilderness.
Some things the two men – Murker and Whalen – let fall, however, gave him an inkling of what was to come. So he did not show any great surprise when Professor Skeel, handing him a paper, said:
“That’s a copy of a letter I want you to write to your father. Copy it, sign it in your natural hand, without any changes whatever, or without making any secret signs on the paper, and give it back to me. When I get the right kind of an answer back, I’ll let you go – not before. Write that letter to your father!”
There was a veiled threat implied in the insolent command.
Professor Skeel held the letter out in front of Tom. The latter could not take it, of course, for his hands were tied.
“Oh!” exclaimed the plotter, as though he had just wakened to this fact. “Well, I’ll loosen your hands for you, but you must promise not to fight. Not that I’m afraid of you, for I can master you, but I don’t want to hurt you, physically, if I can help it.”
Tom did not altogether agree with the professor that he would be the master if it came to an encounter. For our hero was a vigorous lad, he played football and baseball, and his muscles were ready for instant call. True, he was tired from lack of rest and the hardships he had gone through, but he was not at all afraid of a “scrap,” as he afterward put it.
So, then, when Professor Skeel made the remark about the bonds, Tom was ready for what came next.
“I’ll loosen those ropes, so you can copy this letter, if you’ll promise not to attack me,” went on Skeel.
“I’ll promise nothing!” exclaimed Tom, defiantly.
“All right. Then I’ll have to call in my helpers to stand by,” grimly went on the former instructor. “They’ll take care of you if you cut up rough.”
He went to the door, and called out:
“Murker – Whalen! Come in. We may need you,” he added significantly.
Tom steeled himself for what was to come.
“Take off those ropes,” went on the professor, when his two mean men had come in. “Then, if he starts a row – let him have it!”
The words were coarse and rough, and the man’s manner and tone even more so.
“Are we to take off these ropes?” asked Murker.
“Yes, and then stand by. I’m going to make him write this letter. That will bring the cash.”
“That’s what we want!” exclaimed Whalen, with an unctious smile. “It’s the cash I’m after.”
“You’ll get none from my father!” cried Tom, beginning to understand the course of the plot.
“We’ll see about that,” muttered the professor. “Loose his bonds, but look out! He’s a tricky customer.”
“Not any more so than you are,” Tom said, promptly. “And I want to tell you here and now, when you have your witnesses present – mean and low as they are – I want to tell you that you’ll suffer for this when I get out. I’ll make it my business, and my father will also, to prosecute you to the full extent of the law!”
“Words – mere words!” sneered Skeel.
“You won’t get out until you do as the boss wants,” said Whalen.
“Don’t be so rough. Better give in, it will be easier,” spoke Murker, who seemed a little alarmed by what Tom said.
“I’ll attend to him,” said Skeel curtly. “Take off the ropes. Then you read this letter and copy and sign it!” he ordered.
A moment later Tom’s hands were free. He did not see any chance for making an escape then, so he waited, merely stretching his arms so that the bound muscles were more free. True, he might have made a rush on his captors, but the door had been locked, after the entrance of Murker and Whalen, and Tom did not see what opportunity he would have with three against him. He might be seriously hurt and that would spoil his chances for a future escape.
“Read that,” ordered Skeel, thrusting the paper into Tom’s hands. A glance showed that it was addressed to his father. It recited that Tom was in trouble, that he had been made a prisoner by a band of men who would release him only on payment of ten thousand dollars. Details were given as to how the money, in cash, must be sent, and Mr. Fairfield was urged to make no effort to trace Tom, or it would result seriously for the prisoner.
“Sign that and we’ll send it,” ordered Skeel.
Tom dropped the letter to the floor, disdaining to hand it back.
“What’s this?” fairly roared the professor. “Do you mean you won’t do as I say?”
“That’s just what I mean,” said Tom, coolly. “You may keep me here as long as you like, and you can do as you please, but I’ll never sign that letter. Go ahead! I’m not afraid of you!” and he faced his enemies defiantly.
