Kitabı oku: «Tom Fairfield's Hunting Trip: or, Lost in the Wilderness», sayfa 9
CHAPTER XXIV
THE ESCAPE
Professor Skeel retained control of himself with an obvious effort. Clearly he had expected more of a spirit of agreement on the part of Tom, though he might have known, from his previous experiences with our hero, that compliance would not be given. But Tom did not even take the trouble to hand back the letter. It had fluttered to the floor of the cabin.
“You – you – ” began Whalen, angrily spluttering the words.
“Silence!” commanded Skeel. “I’m attending to this.” His face and his tone showed his anger, but he managed to keep it under control. He picked up the letter – something of a condescension on his part, and said to Tom:
“Then you refuse to do as I ask?”
“I most certainly do! The idea is positively – silly!” and Tom had the nerve to laugh in the faces of his enemies.
“We’ll make you sweat for this!” declared Whalen. “We’ll – ”
“Better let the boss work the game,” suggested Murker. In spite of his evil face, and the fact that he was just as guilty in the matter as the others, he seemed of a more conciliatory spirit.
“Yes, you keep out of this,” commanded the professor to the former employee of the school. “I know what I’m doing.”
Tom wondered what the next move would be. He did not have to wait long to find out.
“Well, if you won’t sign this now, you will later,” said Skeel, as he folded the letter and put it into his pocket. “Take him to the dark room,” he ordered. “Maybe he’ll come to his senses there. And don’t give him too much bread and water,” and the man laughed as he gave this order. “A little starving will bring some results, perhaps. Lock him up, and bring me the key.”
“All right, you’re the boss,” assented Murker. “I’m in this thing now, and I’m going to stick it out, but I wish – ”
“You’re right; you’re going to stick!” interrupted Skeel. “You’re in it as deep as I am, and you can’t get out!”
Murker did not finish what he started to say. He shrugged his shoulders and seemed resigned to what was to come. Tom disliked him the least of the three, though the man’s face was not in his favor.
“Shall we tie him up again?” asked Whalen.
“Yes, and tie him good and tight, too. Don’t mind how you draw those cords. The more trouble we make now, the less we’ll have to make later. Tie him up and put him away where he can cool off,” and Professor Skeel laughed mockingly.
For an instant a desperate resolve came into Tom’s mind to make a rush and a break for liberty. But the idea was dismissed almost as soon as it was formed.
What chance would he stand with three full-grown men to oppose him? The door was locked, and Tom’s feet were still bound. He had a knife in his pocket, but to reach it, and cut the ropes on his ankles would take time, and in that time he would easily be overpowered by his captors. It was out of the question now.
“But I’m going to escape, if it’s at all possible,” Tom declared to himself. “And when I do get out of here – ”
But he could not finish his thought. His gun and mackinaw had been taken away from him, and now when Whalen roughly seized him, and put the ropes on his wrists, Skeel said:
“Search his pockets. Take what money he has and any sort of weapons. Then lock him up!”
Tom did have considerable money on him, and this was soon out of his pockets, and in that of the professor. Tom’s knife and other possessions were also removed. Then he was lifted up, carried to another room, and roughly thrust into sort of a closet that was very dark. Tom fell heavily to the floor. His mackinaw was tossed in to him.
“He can use that for a blanket – we’re short of covering,” he heard Skeel say. “We don’t want him to be too comfortable, anyhow.”
Tom was anything but at his ease just then, but he did not falter in his determination not to give in. He shut his teeth grimly.
The door was closed and locked, and our hero was left to his not very pleasant reflections. He managed to struggle to a sitting position, and to edge over until he was leaning back against the wall. He drew his heavy mackinaw to him. It would be warm during the cold night, for that he would be kept a prisoner at least that length of time, he could not doubt.
Tom’s thoughts were many and various. So this was why Skeel had followed him and his chums. This was why he had reappeared at Elmwood Hall, and had caused Whalen to ask questions about the hunting trip.
So this was Skeel’s plan for enriching his purse and at the same time getting revenge. So far, fate had played into the hands of the unscrupulous man and his confederates.
“But I’ll get away!” Tom told himself. He sat there in the gloomy darkness, trying to think of a plan.
Meanwhile his chums, with Sam Wilson, were frantically searching for him in the storm. Sam’s idea was not to leave the neighborhood where Tom had last been seen, until they had exhausted every effort to locate their missing chum.
But it was difficult to search in the storm, and the whirl of flakes made a long view impossible. Then, too, they were in a dense part of the wilderness. Sam Wilson’s farm was perhaps the largest cleared part of it, though here and there were patches where trees had been cut down.
Up and down the road, and on either side of it, the search went on. Sam Wilson was a born woodsman, as well as a hunter and farmer, and he brought his efficiency to the task.
“But it seems to be no go, boys,” he said, at length.
“But what has become of him?” asked George with a look of worriment on his face.
“That’s what we can’t say except that he’s lost,” spoke Jack.
“Yes, but lost in this wilderness – in this storm,” added Bert. “It’s dangerous.”
“Yes, that’s what it is, provided he is still lost,” Sam said.
“Still lost! What do you mean?” asked Jack.
“I mean he may have gone so far that he found his way back to one of the camps.”
“Really?” hopefully cried Bert, who thought Sam might be saying that simply to cheer them up.
“Why, of course it’s possible,” the caretaker went on. “He may have gone on beyond the sound of your guns. And, unexpectedly, he may have hit the trail to one of the camps. For there are trails that lead through the woods. They’re not easy to find, or follow, but Tom might have had luck.”
“Then what shall we do?” asked Jack.
“Go back to Camp No. 2,” answered Sam. “Tom may be there. If he isn’t, we’ll go to the others in turn. Let’s go back. We’ll drive.”
So, abandoning the search for the time being, they started back for camp in the pung, drawn by the powerful horses. They were hoping against hope that Tom would be there, or that they would find him at one of the other cabins.
But Tom was still a prisoner in the dark closet of the lonely shack. What his thoughts were you can well imagine, but, above everything else stood out the determination not to give in and sign the letter asking for the ransom money.
Hours passed. Tom again felt the pangs of hunger. He had an idea the men might try to starve him, but after an interval, which he imagined brought the time to noon, Murker came in with some bread and water.
“Boss’s orders,” he growled. “I’ll untie your hands while you eat, and don’t try any tricks.”
Tom did not answer. The bread was welcome, but the water more so. Murker left him a glass full after he had once emptied the tumbler. Then the ropes were again put on his hands, and he was left alone in the darkness.
Whether it was the same day or not, Tom could hardly tell. He must have dozed, for he awoke with a start, and he knew at once that some noise had caused it.
He listened intently, and heard a scratching, sniffing sound back of him. He could feel the board side of the shack, against which he was leaning, vibrate.
“Can it be that the boys are trying to release me?” Tom asked himself. But in another moment he knew this could not be true. His chums would come boldly up and not try to get him out in this secret fashion. The scratching and sniffing increased.
“It’s some animal!” Tom decided. He edged away from the side of the closet-room, and waited. The sound increased. Then came a splintering, rending sound as of wood breaking. Tom fancied he could feel a board move.
An instant later a streak of light came suddenly into his prison. It was from the moon which was shining brightly on the snow outside, and by the light through the crack Tom could see a big hairy paw thrust in where the board had been torn off.
“It’s a bear!” cried the lad. “He must smell something to eat, and he’s trying to get after it. He’s standing outside and has pulled off a loose board, and – by Jove! I can get out that way!” he said aloud. As he spoke the board was pulled farther loose, leaving a large opening. A sniffing snout was thrust in. Tom had no intention of sharing his prison with a bear, and, raising his two bound feet Tom kicked the animal on its most tender place – the nose. With a growl Bruin withdrew, and Tom could hear him sniffing indignantly as he scampered over the snow. But the bear had made for Tom a way of escape.
“If I could only get my arms and legs free, I could squeeze out through that opening,” Tom decided. Then like a flash the plan came to him.
The tumbler of water had been left within reach. Tom kicked it over with sufficient force to break the glass. He had to make a noise, but after waiting a while, he felt sure his captors had not been aroused. They did not seem to be on guard, or they would have heard the bear when he pulled loose the outside board.
Tom’s muscles were in good control, but he had to strain himself unmercifully to bend over and get a piece of the broken glass between his hands. Then he put it between his two boots, and held it there, with a sharp edge up, by pressing his feet tightly together.
You have doubtless guessed his plan. He was going to use the glass as a knife and saw the rope of his wrists upon it. This he proceeded to do. The moonlight outside, streaming in, gave him enough illumination to work by.
He cut himself several times before he succeeded in fraying the rope enough so it could be broken. Then, rubbing his arms to restore the interrupted circulation, Tom used the glass on the rope that bound his ankles. This he cut through quickly enough, and, was able to stand up. His legs were weak, and he waited a few minutes until he could use them to better advantage. Then, forcing farther off the dangling board, Tom crawled out in the snow, putting on his mackinaw when he was outside.
The storm had ceased. It was night – a night with a dazzling moon, and Tom was free. But where his chums were, or in what direction the camp lay, he could not tell.
CHAPTER XXV
THE SHOT
For a moment, after getting outside the cabin, Tom hardly knew what to do. He was at a loss in which direction to start, but he realized the necessity of getting away from that vicinity as soon as possible.
Though his escape did not seem to have aroused his captors, there was no telling when they would take the alarm and start after him. Tom looked for the bear. The animal was not in sight, though he could see by marks in the snow, where it had approached the cabin from the woods, and where it had run off into the forest again.
“Too bad I haven’t my gun!” mused Tom. “But I don’t dare try to get it.”
Then began for Tom a time he never forgot. He set off toward the woods, wishing to gain their friendly shelter as soon as he could, but once there he was at a loss how farther to proceed.
“But there’s no need to wait for morning,” he reasoned. “I can see almost as well now, as long as the moon is up. I’ll try to find some sort of a trail.”
He staggered on, yes, staggered, for he was weak from his experience, and he had not had proper food in some time. It seemed almost a week, but of course it was not as long as that.
Scarcely able to walk, but grimly determined not to give up, Tom urged himself on. Whither he was going, he knew not, but any way to leave that hateful shack, and the more hateful men behind, was good enough for the time being.
All night long Tom kept on going. He fancied he was on some sort of trail or road, but he could not be sure. Certainly the trees seemed cut down in a line, though it was a twisting and turning one.
Then the moon went down, leaving the scene pretty dark, but the white snow made objects plain. Tom kept on until at last he was fairly staggering from side to side. He was very weak.
“I – I’ve got to give up,” he panted. “I – I’ve got to – to rest.”
He looked about and saw sort of a nook under some bushes. On top was a matting of snow, like a roof. Tom crawled into this like some hunted animal, and sank down wearily. He pulled his mackinaw about him, thankful that he had it with him. He must have frozen without its protection.
Again Tom was unaware of the passage of time. He must have dozed or fainted, perhaps, but when he opened his eyes the sun was shining. The day was a brilliant one, and warm, for that time of year. Tom took heart. He crawled out, and once more started on his wearying tramp. He was very weak and exhausted, and there was a “gone” feeling to his stomach.
“Or the place where it used to be,” Tom said, with grim humor. “I don’t believe I have a stomach left.”
But he forced himself onward. It seemed that he had been staggering over the snow for a week. Time had lost its meaning for him.
“Oh, if I only had something to eat! If I only could find the camp!” murmured poor Tom.
He reached a stump, and sat down on it to rest. He closed his eyes but suddenly opened them again.
Was that fancy, or had he heard a shot? He leaped up, electrified, and then hesitated. Perhaps it was Skeel and the others after him. But a quick look across the snow showed him no one was in sight. Tom reasoned quickly.
“Skeel and his crowd wouldn’t shoot unless they saw me, and then it would be to scare me. It can’t have been those men who fired. It must be the boys. But where are they?” Tom looked eagerly about.
Again came the shot. There was no mistake this time. Then Tom heard a shout. He tried to answer it, but his voice was too weak. Another shot cracked on the frosty air, and then came a series of confused calls.
“There he is!”
“We’ve found him!”
“Hurry up!”
A mist dimmed Tom’s vision. He cleared his eyes with a quick motion of his hand, and then he saw his three chums and Sam Wilson rushing toward him. They came out of the woods, and, a moment later, had surrounded him.
“Where were you?”
“What happened?”
“Where’s your gun?”
“You look all in!”
Fast came the questions.
“I – I am all in,” Tom faltered. “It’s that rascal Skeel. I – I – ”
He could not go on for a moment. Then he pulled himself together.
“Here! Drink this!” exclaimed Jack, producing a small vacuum bottle. “It’s coffee and it’s hot yet.” He poured some out into a tin cup and Tom drank it. It revived him at once. Then, with a little more of the beverage, and a hasty swallowing of a sandwich which formed part of the emergency lunch the boys had brought with them, Tom was able to tell his story.
Hot indignation was expressed by all, and then Jack related how they had found the road, but lost Tom, and how they had met with Sam. Their trip to Camp No. 2 had been fruitless, as we know, nor were they any more successful when they came to Camp No. 3. Tom was not there. Then they started for Camp No. 1, and were on their way thither when they came upon the object of their search. On the way they shouted and fired signal guns at intervals. The dog had found his way to Camp No. 1, after leaving Tom, but the animal could not lead Tom’s friends to him.
“And now to make it hot for those scoundrels!” exclaimed Sam. “We’ll prosecute them not only for kidnapping and robbing you, for that’s what they did when they took your gun and money, but we’ll bring an action in trespass against them. That shack where they kept you belongs to the hunting club.”
“And to think Tom was there all the while and we never knew it,” said Bert.
“Oh, I intended to have a look there, if we hadn’t found him at Cabin No. 1,” declared Sam. “But now let’s get busy! Can you walk, Tom, or will you wait here until I can go get a horse?”
“Oh, I’ll be all right soon. I was just weak from hunger.”
Soon Tom was able to proceed. They were about half way between Camp No. 1 and the shack where our hero had been kept a prisoner, and it was decided to go to the latter place and make an endeavor to capture Skeel and his cronies.
But our friends were too late. The kidnappers had fled, but Tom’s gun and all his possessions, save his money, were found in the cabin. Doubtless the personal belongings were too conclusive evidence against the plotters, to risk taking, but someone had succumbed to the temptation of the cash.
“Well, I’m glad to get this back,” Tom said, taking up his gun.
“Yes, and we’ll get those rascals yet!” declared Sam. “I’ll rouse the whole country after them!”
They went on to Camp No. 1 and there Tom had a good rest. It did not take long to pull himself together, and he was as eager as the others to start out on the trail of the scoundrels. For the time being hunting and the taking of photographs was forgotten. Sam sent word to the authorities, and a sheriff’s posse was organized. It was done so quickly that Skeel and the others, who had taken the alarm and fled when they discovered Tom’s escape, were apprehended before they could leave the neighborhood. The heavy storms had blocked the railroad and there were no trains. The men could not hire a sled and team and so were forced to walk, which put them at a disadvantage. They left a trail easy for the woodsmen, hunters and trappers to follow.
“Well, you got us, and you got us good!” said Murker, when they were arrested and confronted by Tom and the others. “I was afraid something like this would happen.”
“Why didn’t you say so, then, and keep me out of it?” asked Whalen, sullenly.
Professor Skeel said nothing, but he scowled at Tom. The plotter’s plans had fallen through, and he faced a long prison term, which, in due course he received, as did his confederates. The letter Skeel had tried to force Tom to write was found on the man and made conclusive evidence against him and the others. So the scoundrel-professor was cheated of his revenge and the money he hoped to get from Mr. Fairfield.
It became known that Professor Skeel had various experiences after Tom had last seen him. The man was in desperate circumstances when he formed a plan of kidnapping Tom, and holding him for ransom. It was a foolish and risky plan, but Skeel talked it over with his two cronies and decided to try it. They knew Mr. Fairfield was rich.
Then came Skeel’s trip to Elmwood Hall. The snowball was an accident he had not counted on, and it made him more angry than ever against Tom.
Professor Skeel’s injured ear, which looked, as Sam said, “like it had been chawed by some critter,” was the result of a fight he had with a man before this story opened, and with which we have nothing to do. Sufficient to say that it served to identify the man, and put our friends on their guard, so that justice was finally meted out.
The trial and conviction of the men came later. After the trio were safely locked in jail, Tom and his chums returned to the woods where they had been lost. But they were better acquainted with the forest now.
“And we’ll have some fine hunting!” cried Tom, now himself again.
“And get some photographs!” added Bert. “I want a view of that hut where the bear pulled the board off so you could get out.”
“That was queer,” said Tom, smiling. “I don’t believe I’ll like to shoot a bear now, after that one did me such a good turn.”
“You won’t have much chance,” Sam said. “I guess even the oldest and toughest bear is ‘holed-up’ by now. Better be content with deer!”
And the boys had to be, rather against their wills. But they were made happy when each one got a specimen, though none was as fine as was Tom’s antlered head. Moreover, Bert and the others secured all the photographs they wanted.
But deer was not the only game they shot.
Rabbits, partridges and squirrels were plentiful, and the boys had more than enough for their meals. They enjoyed to the utmost the holiday time spent in the hunting camps, and Tom paid his first visit to Camp No. 3.
“Well, take it all in all, how did you enjoy it, fellows?” asked Tom, when, after a last successful hunt they were preparing to go back to home and Elmwood Hall.
“Couldn’t have been better!” was the enthusiastic answer from all.
“But it was rather tough on you, Tom,” said Jack.
“Oh, I didn’t mind it so much, except the ‘hunger-strike’ I had to go on, after I escaped,” was the reply. “And I had the satisfaction of besting Skeel.”
“He’ll hate you worse than ever,” commented Bert.
“He’ll be a long while getting out,” Tom said. “That’s one consolation. Well, here comes Sam with the pung. I suppose we’ve got to go back!”
And with sighs of regret at what they were leaving, real regret in spite of the hardships, the boys prepared to return to civilization, at which point we will take leave of them.
