CHAPTER XXI.

CORRIGAN MAKES A MOVE

Both Jack and Mont had had surprising adventures in plenty, but both of them agreed that none of them equaled the present one.

The noise in the room prevented Corrigan from hearing their entrance, and it was not until Jack's strong hand grasped his arm that he realized the sudden intrusion, and let go his hold upon Deb.

As for the poor girl, she was too exhausted to speak, but with a glad look of recognition, sank back in a faint, supported by Mont, who sprang forward to prevent her from falling to the floor.

"You miserable coward!" exclaimed the young machinist, his blood boiling at a fever heat. "What do you mean by holding my sister in this way?"

With a strong push of his powerful arm he sent the man flying into a corner. It was lucky that he had no weapon in his hands, or Corrigan's career might have received a severe set back.

"Are you hurt?" asked Mont of Deb, as the girl presently opened her eyes, and gave a little gasp.

"I--I think not," she replied, slowly. "Oh, how glad I am that both of you came when you did!"

"What brought you here?" asked the young man.

"I was looking for Jack."

Meanwhile Corrigan had risen to his feet, and stood in a corner, his chagrin at being caught showing itself plainly upon his face. Jack faced him, his hand clenched, ready to strike instantly, if necessary.

"Well, what have you got to say for yourself?" demanded the young machinist.

Corrigan offered no reply. The sudden turn in affairs was something he could not understand. He bit his lip and tried to put on a bold and careless front, but the effort was a failure.

"He stole your model, Jack!" cried Deb.

"So I heard," replied her brother. "What have you done with my property?" he added to Corrigan.

"I haven't anything of yours," was Corrigan's cool reply. "It's all a mistake."

"No, it isn't, Jack; it's the truth," reiterated the girl earnestly.

"You went into my house and took that model by force," continued the young machinist. "You see, I know all about it, so you might as well give up the thing at once."

While speaking, Jack had unconsciously stepped to one side. With a sudden movement Corrigan slipped past him, and made for the open door.

But the young machinist was on the alert, and before the man could realize it, he was sprawling on the floor, with Jack on top of him.

By intuition, he appeared to feel that it would be useless to struggle, and so lay perfectly still.

"I've a good mind to bind you, hands and feet," said Jack. "Close that door, will you, Mont?" he added to his friend.

"Will you let me go if I give up the model?" panted Corrigan, who began to feel the weight of Jack's heavy body upon his chest.

"I don't know. But you've got to give it up, anyway."

"I suppose it's hidden here," put in Mont. "That's probably the reason he's hanging around the place."

"Wherever it is you will never find it without being told," broke in Corrigan.

For well-known reasons he was anxious to get away.

"Oh, let him go, Jack!" exclaimed Deb. "I don't care, now I've got you--and Mont"--the last words with a grateful look at the young man, that caused him to blush. Jack thought the matter over carefully. He was not of a vindictive nature, and bore no personal ill-will against Corrigan.

"What do you think of it?" he whispered to Mont.

"Might as well let him go if he gives up your property," replied the young man. "It would be rather hard for us to manage him."

"Then give up the model and you can leave," said the young machinist to Corrigan. "But I never want you to come around me again."

"Give me your word on letting me go if I give it up?" asked the man, with an eager look.

"Yes."

"Come on, then."

Corrigan led the way to the upper room of the mill. The little party of three entered.

"There it is," said the man, pointing to a corner; "you will find it up there, back of that large beam," and he pointed to an angle in the roof, about eight feet from the floor.

"Give me a boost up, Mont," exclaimed Jack.

The young man caught him by the hips, and held him up as best he could.

"It's here, sure enough!" cried the young machinist, and from out of a dim recess he brought forth the model, covered with dust and cobwebs.

So interested were the two that they did not notice Corrigan back out from the room and close the door behind him.

"I'm glad it's safe!" exclaimed Jack, as he placed the precious burden upon the floor.

"I was afraid--Hello--what's that?"

The creak of a bolt not used before sounded in his ears, and in an instant he noticed the closed door.

"He's gone!" ejaculated Mont, in astonishment.

The young machinist sprang to the door and shook it vainly.

"Trapped, by Jinks!" he exclaimed. "Here, quick! we'll break it down!"

With all force both threw themselves against the wooden barrier.

Unfortunately the door was an old-fashioned one, thick and solid, and it stood firm.

"We're caged and no mistake!" cried the young man, nearly breathless from his repeated exertions. "Hist! Listen!"

Pale as a sheet, Jack did as bidden.

There was a struggle going on below. They heard Deb shriek several times.

"Great heavens, what is he doing?" continued Mont.

"We must get out," exclaimed Jack determinedly.

"Now! One, two, three!"

Bang!

The door groaned. It bent out at the bottom, but still held its own.

"Try it again! Now!"

Bang! Crash!

A thin split through one of the panels, but that was all. Jack jumped over to the model.

"What are you going to do?" asked Mont, perplexed.

"Cut our way out," was the reply.

Taking a small screwdriver from his pocket, the young machinist loosened one of the sharp knives of the miniature planer. As he did so there came a scream from beyond the road.

Jack was again back to the door. How rapidly the chips flew! Hurrah! he had made a hole through!

He put in his finger.

"Can you reach the bolt?" asked the young man anxiously.

"Not quite!"

Again the chips flew. The hole grew larger.

"Here, Mont, try your hand. It's smaller than mine."

The young man did so. With a painful squeeze he pushed through the opening, and catching the bolt by his thumb, drew it back.

Jack then opened the door, and rushing out, jumped down the steps four at a time.

"Come on!" he called back to Mont, who was vainly endeavoring to release his hand. "I think he's gone down the road."

The young machinist was not long in reaching the outside. But once there he came to a full stop.

Neither his sister nor Corrigan were anywhere to be seen!

In a few seconds Mont appeared, the back of his hand bleeding from the scratch it had received.

"Where are they?" he gasped, tying his handkerchief over the wound.

"Blessed if I know!" exclaimed Jack.

He ran to a bend in the road, and then back again. Not a soul to be seen anywhere!

Meanwhile, the young man examined the river bank. All was quiet and undisturbed. The sun had set fully an hour before, and the twilight, especially under the trees, was fast deepening.

"We can't trace them in the dark," remarked Mont, as they stopped for consideration.

"We've got to do it," declared the young machinist; "I'm going to find Deb if it takes a week."

"Then I'm with you, Jack. Come on."

"It runs in my mind that they must have taken that road," said Jack, as he pointed to the one that led down the river.

"Well, we might as well take that as any other," returned Mont. "He must certainly have carried her in his arms, and--well, I declare! Isn't that her hair ribbon?" and he picked up a streamer of brown from the road-side.

Jack examined it.

"You're right," he replied, "We are on the direct way to overtake them. Come!"

Both started on a run. They soon passed the falls, and came to a clear spot on the bank of the river.

Mont uttered a cry.

"Look! Look!" he exclaimed, pointing out in mid-stream. "There they are in a boat; Corrigan is making for Blackbird Island!"