CHAPTER XVI

FIRE IN THE FOREST

Trussed with light rope like a pair of fowl ready for slaughter, the two boys were lifted one by one in the Indian’s arms and laid in the bottom of his dirty canoe. Neither could speak, for bandana handkerchiefs were knotted tightly between their teeth, so that they had barely a chance to breathe. They lay on the unyielding ribs of the craft, which apparently leaked, for several inches of chilly water sloshed about beneath them and ran down their necks, soaking their already damp clothing.

The tarpaulin-wrapped bundle containing the provisions stolen from the Lenape trailers was dumped next to their heads. The man with the pistol crouched in the bow, his slicker thrown open, now that the rain had stopped. His dark-skinned henchman, whom he had called Mink, cast another glance at the _Sachem_, which was caught in the channel current and, bottom upward, drifted toward the outlet. Then, seizing his paddle, he pushed off the heavy-laden vessel and began paddling furiously toward the far shore.

Although they were effectively hidden from the eyes of any returning Lenape canoeists as long as they kept the length of the island between them, the two men kept a wary lookout until they gained the shelter of the far shore, where the deepening twilight hid them from any possibility of discovery. Dirk, squirming painfully in his bonds, could see only the body of the muscular Mink above him, his moving head and arms outlined against the purple sky, in which one star already gleamed. He could hear Brick Ryan breathing heavily beside him, and bit at his gag angrily, realizing that he could help neither his comrade nor himself. If only he had departed with the other members of the party, the two desperate men would not have had opportunity to snare them as they had done. It had been all his own fault, Dirk condemned himself. If only he had listened to Brick——

But why were they thus trapped and taken from their friends toward an unknown fate, leaving an overturned canoe behind to give the cruel impression that they had drowned? What was the meaning of it? Why had this man, who now sat slumped in the bow of the leaky canoe, followed Dirk so relentlessly into the wilds?

He puzzled until his head throbbed, but could piece out no answer to those questions. The steady rhythm of the paddle might have lulled him off to a fitful stupor, so weary was he; but the filthy water in the bottom of the canoe slapped him again and again into wakefulness. It seemed as if hours passed before the canoe made a sudden swerve shoreward, and the bottom beneath him scraped on a gravel spit of land.

It was already quite dark. The two lads were bundled out of the canoe and were glad to be relieved from their painful position. Had their captor not untied all their bonds save those holding their hands behind their backs, they would have fallen over when they were first put on their feet; as it was, Dirk was forced to lean against a tree to keep himself erect.

The Indian’s master pulled the gags from their mouths with a warning. “Not a word out of either of you! Not that it would do you any good, at that. You don’t know where you are, but I can tell you it’s miles from anybody that could hear you, or would care what I did to you if you yelled. So be good little kids and follow my half-breed friend Mink. And remember, I still have my gun handy.”

The half-breed, who during this time had been pulling his canoe ashore and hiding it in a pile of brush near by, now silently raised the pack of provisions to his shoulder and began stolidly tramping through the darkness. The driven boys stumbled in his wake, too weary to know or care where the overgrown path might lead. Behind them marched the nameless man, who now and then uttered an oath as he tripped over a root or sank ankle-deep in a forest pool.

After half a mile, the guard dropped so far behind that Dirk ventured a cautious whisper in the direction of his friend; although, since the half-breed looked back from time to time, it was impossible to attempt a flight.

“Where do you think they’re taking us, Brick?”

Brick shook his head hopelessly. “Don’t know—too dark to see. I think we’re on the west side of Moosehorn, but maybe not.”

“I’m sorry I was such a fool as to let them take us so easily. If I’d listened to you——”

“Don’t worry, my lad.” Brick’s voice was somehow cheering. “They won’t hurt you. Me, maybe, but not you.”

“You mean—you know why they captured us? I’ve been trying to figure it out. Why, why did they do it?”

“Mean to tell me you don’t know? Why, I’ve been suspectin’ it since the first time I saw that guy with the gun. Don’t you realize that he kidnaped you so that he could make your dad pay a wad of money to get you back?”

Dirk Van Horn gasped incredulously. “But—kidnapers! Why, my father isn’t a wealthy man! He’s quite well off, but even if he is president of a bank, he doesn’t own all the money in it!”

“Well, wouldn’t he give all he’s got to have you back home safe again? Sure, he’d do that, and this tough bird that’s got us counts on it. No, you’re safe until he gets some ransom for you.”

“Quiet, there!” commanded an angry voice, with a curse. Their guard had caught up to them, and a wave of his weapon put a stop to their whispered comments. But Dirk at last understood why he was a prisoner. He understood, too, the strange invitation of the man when they had surprised him at Lake Lenape. He had tried to lure them away from their friends, and failing in that, had kept watch on the boy’s every movement. Seeing that a capture was impossible so close to the camp, he had somehow found out about the long trail expedition, and no doubt hiring the villainous half-breed Mink to help him in his criminal purpose, had gone before them and waylaid them at Flint Island by a ruse, at a time when the two boys were by chance separated from the main party.

At long last the man ahead stopped and put down his burden. A dim shape loomed before them, a rough hut of logs chinked with mud, that was evidently the dwelling of the half-breed. He fumbled with the latch on the door. The man in the slicker tossed away a glowing cigarette, and pushed them inside, harshly ordering Mink to shut the door and cover the window before lighting the lantern.

In the glow of the battered oil-lantern that the half-breed brought forth, the boys looked about with half-shut eyes. A heap of cured skins lay in one corner, and the single room smelled vilely of stale smoke and damp walls and animal remains. The Indian knelt on the hearth of the rough stone fireplace, but his master stopped him with a word.

“Quit that! Do you want to tell the world where we are? They could see that smoke ten miles away! We’ll grab a cold supper tonight, and tomorrow when you’re here with them, don’t take any chances, or you’ll end up in the jug! There must be some stuff in that bundle that we can eat.”

He sank down on a stool and lit another cigarette, while the half-breed rummaged in the Lenape provision-sack and discovered some cans of fruit and vegetables, which he opened with the blade of an ax. The two prisoners, too tired to care what befell, sank to the floor and lay there half-asleep, until the Indian roused them roughly and shoved food at them, untying their chilled hands so that they might eat.

Hungrily, they wolfed down the unappetizing fare. Cold corn from a can, dry bread, and still dryer prunes do not constitute an ideal repast for famished boys, but they made the best of what was given them. Brick, indeed, was so strengthened by the meal, poor as it was, that his Irish fighting spirit came back to him. Chewing a crust, he lifted his head and directed a fierce glance at their enemies.

“You’ll go to jail for life for doin’ this!” he challenged.

The man wiped his mouth leisurely, rose, and strode over to the hapless lads.

“Still full of pep, eh? Well, Redhead, it won’t take us long to put that out of you! Young Mr. Millionaire Van Horn here will be all right if Papa comes across tomorrow, but you ain’t worth a nickel to me, and don’t forget it!” His cold blue eyes widened. “Say, what’s that thing stickin’ out of your shirt?”

Brick drew back, fumbling at his breast, where the honor of Lenape, in the shape of a rumpled bit of green-and-white bunting, had been carried throughout the journey.

“It’s—nothin’, just a flag,” he muttered, trying to stuff it out of sight.

His tormentor laughed jeeringly. “Just a flag, eh?” With a sudden movement, he tore it from the boy’s grasp. After a slighting glance, he crumpled it in his fist, strode to the door, and tossed the Lenape pennant into the mud outside the step.

He whirled to meet Brick’s leap. Dirk sprang to help, but was disdainfully pushed aside by the silent half-breed. When next he looked, Brick lay sprawled out on the floor, with an ugly red blotch on his forehead and helpless rage crackling in his eyes.

The man’s doubled fist threatened further punishment. Then, with another empty laugh, he turned on his heel.

“Go to sleep, you brats,” he flung out over his shoulder. “Toss them some blankets, Mink. I’ve got to get some rest if I’m hoofing over to Yanceyville in the morning.”

The blanket-rolls of the two trailers had been taken from their canoe along with the larger pack; and these were now thrown over them as they crouched in one corner of the hut. The walls and crude floor-boards let in draughts of chill, damp night air, and they hunched together dumbly for warmth and companionship. With the moaning of the wind through the trees above their heads as a doleful lullaby, they sank into the despairing slumber of the captive.

After a century of nightmares in that dark, noisome hole, Dirk stirred his cramped limbs and opened his eyes to find a ray of daylight slanting through the single window. His enemy stood with one hand on the latch of the door, giving parting orders to his servile guide. The man’s pasty face showed the effects of an existence that was not natural to him, whose haunts were those of the city. His serge suit was stained and creased, while his cheek bore a clotted scratch where he had scraped it against the projecting limb of a tree during the dark passage of the previous night.

“And remember,” he was snarling, “that you ain’t to let those brats out of your sight for a minute! They’re slippery little imps, especially that red-headed one. If all goes well and the old man comes across with the money, I’ll be back with your share by night.”

“You not try to fool me, eh? You pay me what you said?”

“Sure, Mink. We’re partners on this—split the dough fifty-fifty. I’ll telegraph old Van Horn from Yanceyville, and if he’s got any sense, he’ll send the cash by wire right away. It’s a cinch.”

He passed out into the sunlight, scratched a match, and began puffing the eternal cigarette. As he disappeared, the Indian shrugged and set about putting together a breakfast as cold and cheerless as the meal of the previous night.

Miserably the boys roused themselves to face another day of imprisonment, in the tumbledown cabin of the half-breed, who handed food to them silently and whose watchful, savage glare made them break off each time they attempted to speak to one another. In fact, so closely did he watch their least move that Dirk, after an hour, gave up all hope of finding any avenue of escape from beneath the half-breed’s eye.

More than two hours had passed, Dirk judged, since the departure of their nameless foe, who was evidently now well on his way to Yanceyville on his nefarious errand of attempting to extort a large sum of money from Dirk’s father as a ransom. What would happen? Even if the money were paid promptly, would this man free them at once, or would he attempt some further villainy to prevent them from putting the law on his track as soon as they had won to civilization?

Mink, who had been sitting on his stool with his back against the door, passing the time by whittling idly at a stick of firewood, sat up suspiciously. His nose was in the air, sniffing like a hound that has lost the scent. He rose with a clatter and paced, still sniffing, to the dead fireplace. After a few seconds, he shrugged and returned, apparently satisfied, to his post.

Dirk went back to his gloomy thoughts, which were now turned toward his companions, who had set out so blithely with him on the Long Trail. Were they even now mourning his death and Brick’s, as victims of a canoe accident? He recalled his clumsiness the first time the _Sachem_ was launched—no doubt they thought him still a lubber who would upset his craft and drag his friend with him to the watery depths. But Mr. Carrigan was wise; and though their captors were cunning, they had left several clues that might be read. For instance, the provision-sack had been tightly lashed within the canoe; Sagamore Wise-Tongue would think it strange that it had worked loose when the canoe overturned. They had left no tracks, except a trampled spot in the bushes on Flint Island, but perhaps, perhaps the Lenape men had not given up hope. Their stock of food was gone, but they would find some way to exist, even in the wilderness——

He woke from his reverie. Mink had again jumped to his feet, nose in air. Dirk sniffed too. Something stronger than the heavy odor of the cabin was sifting through the chinks in the logs. It smelled like the lodge at Lenape, in the evening with the whole tribe gathered around the fireplace——

With a wild cry, the Indian threw open the door, leaped across the threshold, and slammed it behind his retreating form. A frozen instant of hushed wonder—the smell became undeniable—a smell of charring timber——

Dirk dashed for the window, but Brick was before him. Together, the boys stared through the dirty pane. The forest showed them no danger signals, but from over their heads came the thuds of a scrambling body and the low hiss of flames in dry shingle-boards.

Brick turned to his friend, his freckled face aglow with renewed hope.

“This cabin must be afire, Dirk!” he muttered, trying to keep down the exultation in his heart. “Gollies, listen to that! The roof must be blazin’ like sixty!”

It was true; rising above the beats of his heart, the listening Dirk could hear the crackling of hungry flames.

“Our chance!” Brick’s eyes were dancing. “Come on! Old Mink sure will be busy for a minute, and he won’t think about us. Now’s our chance to make a getaway!”