The Young Timber-cruisers; or, Fighting the Spruce Pirates Part 2

 CHAPTER TWELVE

THE RESCUE

Unhampered by Stanley the veteran and Bub exercised all their knowledge of woodcraft and held a bee line for the mountain. The very fact that they had been compelled to abandon their companion led them in a degree to cast caution aside and hasten on at top speed to obtain ammunition so that they might return and rescue him. Occasionally Bub ascended a tree with the agility of a squirrel and verified their course. In the black growth this spying out of the land was absolutely necessary, as Abner was intent on striking the mountain at a particular ridge.

After hours of nerve racking work the two came to the first stage of their ascent.

“Go on ahead,” panted Abner. “Ye’re fresher’n I be. Git the cartridges and come back and meet me. I’ll be loafing along here somewhere. Leave yer rifle with me—and scoot!”

Tightening his belt Bub flashed up the ridge, leaping along as if fresh at the task. Abner ​groaned aloud in sympathy with himself and dropped on a bed of moss at one side.

In an amazing short space of time, considering the distance covered, Bub bounded into view, waving his hands in exultation.

“Gim’me ’em!” snapped Abner, clawing hungrily for the cartridges. Then as he rapidly slipped them into the magazine of both guns he threw back his shoulders and became a new man. The hunted look vanished from his eyes and his mouth straightened in grim determination.

“Now,” he hoarsely announced, slouching his hat forward, “we’ll pay a call to Mister Nick and we’ll present a card for every one he sends to us. Come on, my son.”

“If he has hurt Stanley, I’ll kill him,” savagely declared Bub.

“Quit that!” sharply directed Abner. “’Course he ain’t hurt him. He ain’t even found him. Why! if he has hurt him I’d foller him to Alaska. Now, double quick, or we won’t git to him before night.”

“We won’t be able to return to the warden’s to-night after finding Stanley,” said Bub, breaking into a trot and moving as if it were his first journey in days.

“We don’t want to,” replied Abner. “Now ​we’re loaded we can go where we will and stay as long as we will. But it’s mighty lucky the warden’s ammunition fits our guns. Else we’d had to borrer his and have only one between us.”

“He’s worried about Stanley and will run a lantern up into a tree, so’s if we want to come back we can hit the trail easy,” informed Bub.

“That Reddy is a good boy,” mused Abner. “Most fellers would have took on and gone crazy at the idea of being left alone out there. But he was the first one to suggest it. He may be green, but he’s got lots of grit.”

“I like him,” said Bub simply.

The next few miles were covered in silence, the steady dog-trot being interrupted only as Bub paused to climb a tree. On these aerial excursions he not only made sure of their course but he also keenly examined the country ahead in an effort to locate the half-breed. In this quest he was much aided by Abner’s field glasses.

The last tree he climbed caused Abner to wax impatient. “Going to stay up there all night?” he sharply inquired.

“Wait! wait!” murmured Bub, his voice trembling with excitement. “Great Scott! Here they come!”

​“Who d’ye mean by ‘they’?” hoarsely cried Abner, throwing forward his rifle and fingering the lever nervously.

“It’s Stanley, and he’s running like mad!” shouted Bub, sliding down the trunk with reckless haste. “And a quarter of a mile behind him is Big Nick, his face covered with something like blood.”

“Are they aiming this way?” choked Abner, tearing down a slope.

“Yes,” replied Bub, “but we’d best separate so as to bring them between us. I’ll branch off to the right.” Suiting his action to the word Bub turned at right angles and put several rods between himself and Abner before continuing his onward flight.

Then both were horrified to hear the half-breed’s rifle explode thrice with venomous sharpness.

“The dirty hound is shooting at him,” wailed Abner, straining to increase his already swift gait. “O if he should hit him when we are so near. Shoot, Bub! Shoot! Let him have it the first sight ye git of him, and aim to kill!” yelled Abner, his voice sinking into a snarling sound as he plunged onward and found no elevation from which he could command a view of the race.

​His mouth relaxed as Bub’s rifle rang out, for he knew the youth had caught a glimpse of the enemy. Then he came to a hillock, spruce covered, and for the first time was able to take in the situation at the front.

Stanley was running through a fringe of hard wood growth, While the half-breed perilously near was dodging from side to side to get a line on him. Stanley seemed to appreciate the other’s purpose, for he repeatedly leaped aside from a straight course, seeking to put as many trees between him and Nick as possible. The half-breed apparently had paid no attention to Bub’s shot, or else in his lust to kill had not heard it.

“Dodge into the spruce!” yelled Abner, forgetting that the fugitive could not be expected to hear.

But if he could not reach Stanley with his warning he could convey a message to Big Nick. Taking deliberate aim at the bobbing figure he pulled the trigger. Almost at that moment the half-breed half stumbled and this mishap doubtless saved his life. As it was the bullet grazed his head, and with the quickness of a fox he dropped from view. Stanley raced on, now grasping the situation.

A puff of smoke told of Nick’s hiding place as ​he made one last attempt to reap his vengeance. Instantly Bub’s rifle spit out a round of shots, coming so rapidly that the first explosion seemed to blend with the last. At the same moment Abner exhausted his magazine with similar rapidity, and there was no further response from the common target.

Only pausing to reload Abner and Bub advanced to intercept Stanley. When the latter broke through the last barrier and beheld them, a smile spread over his distorted features and he crumpled up over a fallen tree trunk.

“Loosen his shirt and fan him,” commanded Abner. “I’ll go on and cruise for the Injun. Stay here till I come back.”

For several moments Stanley remained with his eyes closed, breathing spasmodically. Then he gasped, “Much obliged, old man. I was about played out.”

“Don’t talk. Just breathe,” directed Bub, his eyes moist with pity. “When Abner gets back you can tell us all about it. But till then take it easy. And, my son, I think you’ll agree that we’ve had several miles of real old fashioned excitement.”

Stanley nodded his head and tried to grin, but could not muster quite enough energy. Neither spoke until nearly an hour had passed, ​when a step was heard in the immediate front.

“Who is it?” cried Bub, bending forward, his rifle half raised.

“Abner! Don’t shoot,” cried the old man.

“All right, Mister Whitten. Advance and give the countersign,” humorously replied Bub.

“Where’s our friend?” murmured Stanley.

“Ye ought not to have any friends,” complained Abner. “What in sin possessed ye to keep in that hard wood growth fer? Didn’t ye know it was giving Nick a fine bead on ye, with the leaves only half out? Why didn’t ye dig into the spruce? I vum! If I’d know’d ye was so tarnation foolish I’d just kept on to the warden’s and e’t my supper. As fer Big Nick, I couldn’t find him.”

Stanley rose on his elbow and silently shook the old man’s hand, his eyes beaming his thanks.

“Ye can’t soft soap me that way,” gruffly informed Abner, still retaining his hand. “Bub knows I told him that I’d bet ye wouldn’t have enough sense to stay hid, but would come a mooning along and trying to git killed. Bub will remember what I said. I said ye’d be up to just such a fool trick and that we’d better camp with the warden, git our sleep and ​fodder and take our time to-morrer in coming back here fer the remains. Bub will—”

“But Bub doesn’t,” grinned that individual. “Why! Stanley, he cleared eighteen feet at every jump in hiking back here to find you.”

“Wal, we both was a-coming some,” grinned Abner, now openly patting Stanley’s hand. “'But, tell us, younker, how the varmint came to jump ye? If I’d thought he was to find ye I’d stuck along and took a chance.”

Stanley then recited the incidents of his slumber and awakening and of his terror in finding Nick’s moccasins near his face.

“Then I remembered how you threw a stone to one side and got him to shoot in the direction of the sound and I did the same trick with my pencil. The minute he fired I let out a yell—and I was awfully scared I am free to admit—and letting out a horrible yell I dashed at him and struck him over the head with the club. It seemed a cold-blooded thing to do, but it was that or nothing. He went back into the bushes as if he’d been hit with an axe, but I didn’t have sense enough to try for his rifle. I think I must have been a bit crazy, for the next thing I know I was running like mad trying to stop screaming. I don’t know how long or how far I raced before realizing what was the matter. ​Once I got control of myself I proceeded with more caution. But I was about to drop when he fired the last time. That spurred me on. Then came a shot as I thought in front—”

“That was mine. I saw the bushes wriggle and let drive to take up his attention,” proudly informed Bub.

“Well, I hardly dared hope it was either of you. I thought my ears must be playing tricks on me. Anyway, I couldn’t have gone many rods farther when Abner and you gave the grand fusillade. That spurred me up wonderfully.”

“And ye had the nerve to clash with Nick and clout him with the club!” admired Abner, now holding Stanley’s trembling hand in both of his. “O why should a half-breed’s skull be so tough, and why didn’t ye finish him! And to think ye dared jump him! To think ye had brains enough to remember the decoy trick and draw his fire! And to think ye realized it was all necessary before lamming him! Red, I’m proud of ye.”

“But, Mr. Whitten,” remonstrated Stanley, reddening beyond the tinge caused by his exertions; “I did nothing except what I was forced to do. I deserve no credit. I was desperate because I was cornered. I had to do it.”

​“No, ye didn’t,” denied Abner, loudly and shaking his head emphatically. “If ye’d been like most city chaps ye’d tried to steal away and got plunked, or ye ’d remained quiet till he found ye. But when ye took him by surprise ye had a second’s advantage. And let me tell ye, younker, it takes a mighty smart woodsman to catch Big Nick a-napping. Noisy Charlie could do it, mebbe, but I couldn’t. Ye had to be as silent as a angleworm in gitting to yer feet, else he’d catched ye, sure. Guess Nick can hear a watch tick a mile.”

“Then he’ll hear his head ring a good long time,” exulted Bub. “His face was covered with blood. You must have hit him an awful crack.”

“Now it’s all over I feel sort of tired,” admitted Abner. “Seems if I hadn’t ate fer a week or slept fer two. Let’s git a little nearer to the ridge and camp fer the night.”

“I can go up to the warden’s and fetch down some food,” volunteered Bub.

“No, sirree!” refused Abner. “Ye’ve made that trip once to-day in record breaking time. We’ll let grub go till to-morrer.”

But to their great joy this proposed fasting was not necessary. For when they neared the ​mountain they were met by the warden, carrying two baskets of provisions.

“Bub, ye’ve met Professer Carlton, the warden. Professer, this younker is Stanley Malcolm, a city chap, who is trying his best to git killed in the woods.”

The professor warmly shook Stanley by the hand, smiling quizzically at Abner’s brusque introduction. “I feared you would be unable to make my home,” he explained, “and so I’ve taken the liberty to bring down some food.”

“Take all those liberties ye want to so far as I’m consarned, Professer,” earnestly entreated Abner, tearing the coverings from the baskets. “Wal, by the jumping jing!”

“Nothing wrong, I trust,” cried the professor, alarmed at the outcry.

“Nothing wrong,” bellowed Abner, presenting a radiant face. “Why, Red! Why, Bub! Look here!” And he exposed the contents to view. “In all my dreams I never pictered anything better’n a slice of salt pork and a crust of bread. And here, as I live, is fresh biscuit, real ham, pertaters cooked as I never believed they was cooked outside of heaven, and red stuff in jars—”

“That’s jelly,” laughed the professor, winking at the boys. “My daughter had just ​finished a baking and was able to supply the biscuit. She added the jelly for the invalid. There is some coffee and a coffee-pot.”

“Prob’ly ye’ve had yer supper,” sounded Abner, eying the provisions wolfishly.

“I have and can not partake with you,” said the professor.

“All right; I know ye won’t mind if we pitch in right away,” said Abner, his tone much relieved as he found the food was to be shared by three rather than four.

“And here’s pickles and cheese and a pie,” gasped Bub, exploring the other basket.

“And cake and a whole roast chicken,” added Stanley in amazement. “Why, Professor Carlton, you and your daughter must have thought there were a dozen starving men instead of but three, and surely you must have robbed yourself.”

“Not a bit of it,” assured the professor. “Now I want to see you eat. One of you start a blaze for the coffee and I’ll fetch a pot of water from the spring nearby.”

“I’ll fetch ye in a deer just as soon as I git ‘my nerves settled,” declared Abner, drawing a hamper towards him.

“That will be next fall when the law is off,” reminded the professor.

​Abner sniffed disdainfully. “I believe in game laws,” he said, “but if a deer chases me more’n a couple of miles in the spring, a-trying to bite me, why, I shoot in self-defense. And once the deer is shot there’s no reason why the neighbors shouldn’t have a bit of vension.”

“I’m afraid you woodsmen are often attacked by deer,” gravely said the professor.

“Wal, I’ll say this. The same deer never chased me twice,” returned Abner.

“Do you return home to-night?” asked Stanley, much interested in this new acquaintance, who had the polished manners of a true gentleman and the head of a scholar.

“Yes; it’s a stiff, long climb, but my daughter will be waiting,” replied the professor. Then reading the youth’s thoughts he suggested, “But why can’t you all make it, after you’ve refreshed yourselves? My daughter will prepare you an appetizing breakfast.”

“I vum! I’d like to, but I’m too tired,” said Abner.

“I believe she intends to have buckwheat cakes and maple syrup,” mused the professor.

“What!” cried Abner, half rising. “Of course we’ll go. No need of loafing around here. I’d been up there to pay my respects ​long ago if it wan’t fer these bothersome younkers.”

The professor and the youths smiled broadly at the way in which Abner changed his mind under the influence of promised cakes and syrup, but Bub with a practical eye reminded, “Let’s not forget to send out an alarm about Big Nick.”

“Yes; I’ll telephone the minute we get home,” promised the professor. “His setting the fire is a serious offense in itself; his attempt at cold-blooded murder must be punished, of course. None of you are safe so long as he is at liberty.”

“Do you expect he’ll be picked up?” asked Stanley.

The professor shook his head and regretted, “I am sorry to say I do not believe he will be captured unless it is by chance; that is, not by the wardens. We have to keep a close watch for fires. Only a few are blessed as I am with the company of a daughter, or with any company at all. We are stationed far apart and the half-breed can range at pleasure in and among the mountains without being disturbed. Even if he were seen and pursued he could easily escape. I believe he will make for the north, where he will be less apt to meet either ​fire or game-warden. And if he does meet one of either the warden might hesitate to attempt his capture unless he caught him at a disadvantage, as to try and fail would mean the warden’s death.”

“That’s so,” sorrowfully agreed Abner; “but let me tell ye something. I’m going to git Big Nick before I quit these woods. Now, let’s eat.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE PROFESSOR AT HOME

At noon next day Stanley opened his eyes to new surroundings. It was several minutes before he could piece together the strenuous events of the preceding two days, or realize just where he was. He knew he was in a soft bed and aching in every muscle. From the open window he could see nothing except a silver speckled sky and a brown top of a mountain on the horizon. The latter was Mt. Jim, although he was to learn that later.

Slowly the closing incidents of his flight through the woods, his encounter with Big Nick and his meeting with Professor Carlton filtered into place in his recollections, but he could not recall the evening trip up the heights to the warden’s home.

On dressing and investigating his surroundings he found he was alone in a large log house. The summit wind had free passage through the open door and windows. The living room was commodious and given a cosy atmosphere by the big fireplace at one end. On a table ​were a number of books, while many volumes were stacked against one wall. He also detected various evidences of a woman’s presence, such as a work box and a sewing table. On the walls of the room the masculine note predominated in several trophies of hunting and fishing trips. Guns, canoe paddles, butterfly nets, lake trout mounted, were intermingled with a few pictures. On the whole the place seemed a paradise after his rough fare in the woods.

But the absence of his host and friends led him to walk painfully to the door. A glorious view was spread out below him. From the top of Hood mountain he could count many lakes dotting the carpet of black growth far below. All inequalities of surface, such as ledges and minor hills, were smoothed out and he could hardly believe that the even, unbroken expanse contained the tangled and blocked path of yesterday. Before he had gazed his fill the sound of voices at the other end of the cabin caught his ear and he hastened to find his friends.

“Sleep well?” smiled Professor Carlton, shaking his hand.

“Never better,” replied Stanley. “What time is it?”

​“A woodsman would look at the sun,” tantalized Bub.

“I forgot,” confessed Stanley. Then he became confused in noting a sweet-faced girl eying him with half hidden amusement.

“Laura, this is Stanley Malcolm, a friend and companion of Mr. Whitten and Mr. Thomas,” informed the professor.

“I know,” she smiled. “I talked with him last night.”

“Did I talk with you last night?” gasped Stanley, recalling nothing of the incident.

“She should say she talked at you, but that you were too weary to talk or see anyone,” qualified the professor.

“You were all played out when we got here, explained Bub, holding himself very erect as he realized the professor had “mistered” him.

“How do ye feel?” anxiously asked Abner. “Fit to go on to-day?”

“Yes,” slowly replied Stanley, but wincing as he moved about.

The professor’s quick eye caught his grimace and he firmly declared, “You mustn’t move a step from here for a day or so. Better have Mr. Thomas give you a good rub with some liniment I have in the house. I made it myself and it will do you lots of good.”

​Abner seemed relieved at the prospect of lingering, for the memories of last night’s supper were still fresh in his mind. But his tone was a bit testy as he said, “Of course if ye’re tuckered out we must accept Professor Carlton’s hospitality a bit longer. But we must git up to the end of the trip ahead of Noisy Charlie.”

“We could start to-day, Abner, and leave Stanley here to pick up,” mischievously suggested Bub. “Then we could call for him later.”

“No need of going to that bother,” quickly discouraged Abner. “Charlie won’t git along for a few days and we might as well take a rest.”

Miss Laura shot a sharp glance at the two youths to show she appreciated the old man’s desire to enjoy her cooking further, and tempted, “I’ll make you something extra nice, Mr. Whitten. Something that the others shall have none of.”

“We can stay just as well as not,” hastily assured Abner. “And as we’re eating ye out of house and home the Great Northern Land and Paper company will settle all the bills.”

“There can be no question of settlement,” gravely said the professor. “Incidentally I ​am employed by that company in addition to my duties as state fire-warden. My orders are to help and aid any who come my way, let alone my inclination to entertain.”

Miss Laura nodded happily and explained, “You have no idea how pleasant it is for us to have someone drop in—or, I should say, drop up—no, come up. There! Sometimes we see no one for many weeks. Of course we have the telephone, but it isn’t like real visiting.”

“But the extra work,” reminded Stanley. “It doesn’t seem right that a slip of a thing like you should be cooking for three strange men.”

She laughed softly. “A strange man and two boys,” she corrected. “Besides, Mr. Whitten is no longer a stranger to us, we’ve heard so much about him.”

“Ye git out,” bashfully protested Abner, yet reddening with pleasure. “Guess ye never heard no good of me.”

“Mr. Whitten is fishing for compliments,” she quizzed. “And I’ll pay him none.” Then seriously, “But I’ll say that I know how he saved the lives of three men up north of Parmachena two winters ago in the midst of the worst blizzard of the year. It was simply noble the way he went out and found them, when ​everyone had given them up for lost. You know, he took provisions with him and on finding them about to die and ignorant of the woods he built a shelter and remained with them until they were able to follow him to the settlement.”

“Quit that stuff,” commanded Abner, frowning to conceal his pleasure.

“O he’s done that so many times we that know him pay no attention to it now,” lightly informed Bub.

“I’ll larrup ye, ye young—beg pardon, ma’am, but he’s a very troublous boy at times,” stammered Abner.

“I’m sure he will grow up and make a good man,” gravely encouraged Laura, her eyes dancing.

“I’m sixteen in years and a million feet tall in experience,” desperately blurted out Bub.

“My! I didn’t know you were so aged,” laughed Laura. “Now I must remember my manners. Do you know, I was about to call you Bub.”

“I’m very young,” quickly broke in Stanley, finding her bright eyes and piquant face very pleasing. “So there’s no reason why you shouldn’t call me Stanley.”

“I think, my daughter, our guests will be ​deciding you are very, very young,” dryly warned her father.

“By jing! Ye just let her ramble on nat’ral like,” cried Abner, now thoroughly infatuated with the quick-eyed miss. “Let’s have no finnified company manners up here. I‘m a rough old curmudg’un and these two younkers give me a lot of bother, but we all like to meet nat’ral people. Now, Professer, s’pose ye give me a few p’inters as to how the land lays north of here.”

“Gladly. You’ll find the map is incorrect in several particulars,” assented the professor. “Will you step inside? Laura will entertain our young men.”

“The young men will entertain me,” corrected Laura, once the men had left them. “First, tell me all about your experiences with that awful man, the Indian.”

“You tell it, Stanley,” diffidently requested Bub.

“There’s not much to tell you don’t already know,” said Stanley. “I can only add that if it wasn’t for Bub here I’d never pulled through. I walked for miles leaning on his shoulder. He not only had to pick the way but half carry me.”

“That will do,” growled Bub. “Miss ​Laura, this chap insisted on staying behind and then puts up a fight against Big Nick. He had a stick and Nick had a rifle and was ready to shoot. Not only that, but he tried to desert us and find the enemy and make them believe that he was alone in the woods and was—”

“Stop it!” cried Stanley, his face a deep ruddy color. “Don’t talk nonsense. If Bub hadn’t made the trip to the house, here, and got the ammunition and brought it in double quick to Abner, and then found me just as I was about to drop, why, you’d have an easier time cooking to-day and—”

“Stanley Malcolm, you can talk more fool things in a minute,” exploded Bub. “S’pose she wants to hear that stuff?”

“She certainly does,” cried Laura. “Do you know, I think you both as nice as you can be. It makes me tingle to think of being chased by that man through the dark woods. I should have had a crying spell and fainted, I’m sure.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” grinned Bub. “They don’t grow cowards up here on old Hood.”

“I should say not,” enthusiastically cried Stanley.

“But I didn’t ‘grow’ up here,” modified Laura. “I was born and brought up near ​Boston. My father was a professor at Exton college till his health gave out. The doctors said only out-of-doors life would save him and so we came here. My mother died when I was very small. We have lived here for four years. He sent me to Boston the first two winters, but as I grew to realize how lonely he must be up here I refused to leave him.”

“Of course you did,” admired Stanley.

“But it was very pleasant,” she quickly insisted. “I was far happier than I could be in Boston at my aunt’s. He tutored me each day, so I knew I was keeping up with my class at the least, and in some studies I have gained over my classmates. One can, you know, when studying alone and putting much time on a subject. But I’m ashamed to talk books with two young men of your experiences.”

“You needn’t feel ashamed as to me,” honestly assured Bub. “I know nothing in books. Had to educate myself, largely, and I haven’t astonished anyone by my progress.”

“He has, Miss Laura,” contradicted Stanley. “He has astonished me. When I reached the mills and he got me work I was mean enough to feel superior to him in book knowledge. You can imagine my confusion—no, you can not; one must make the same ​mistake to imagine it—but I was greatly confused to find he could write far better than I and knew more about mathematics and the like. I will now admit, Bub, it was hard work eating that humble pie you gave me when I learned the truth.”

“That is the way one should talk,” cried Laura, her eyes beaming with appreciation. “If I were a boy—I mean a young man—I should want just such a friend as you are to each other.”

“Can’t a young man have girl friends?” mumbled Bub, casting down his eyes.

“Can’t two young men have a girl friend—the same friend?” added Stanley, following Bub’s diffident example.

Laura laughed delightedly and gave each a frank little hand. “Now, we are three friends,” she announced. “That means we must be very honest with each other. If you do not like my biscuits you mustn’t say you do. You must be sincere about everything in talking with a friend.”

“But I shall like your biscuits,” insisted Stanley.

“The idea of finding fault with the only girl friend I’ve got,” scoffed Bub.

“You two are hopelessly insincere, I can ​see,” she sighed. “But to prove I trust you I’m going to let you into a secret. Come with me.”

Wondering, the two followed her quick steps. Descending a few rods to an overhanging ledge she produced from a natural hiding-place some purple tinted crystals.

“But what are they?” asked Stanley, much puzzled, and finding nothing of moment in her disclosure.

For an answer she held up a finger on which was a beautiful amethyst.

“What! amethysts!” he cried, while Bub’s eyes opened wide.

She nodded her head rapidly. “Father sent one away to the city and had it cut and set in this ring. I know where there’s a mine of them. I found them myself. People in town, the ones we sent the stone to, have been very curious to know where we got it. Of course we told them nothing. I keep these out here for fear someone will drop in on us some day for the purpose of doing a bit of spying. If they saw any uncut gems in the house they would know we got them around here. Sometime I’ll show you the mine.”

“I never knew such things could be found in Maine,” said Stanley.

​“Why, this state is the richest in the Union in gems,” cried Laura. “I do not believe that such a variety can be found anywhere as here, aside from the precious stones. There are men here who make much money mining amethysts, tourmalines and the like. Did you know many fresh water pearls are found in our brooks and rivers?”

Seeing Stanley’s blank expression she continued, “I’ve found a dozen in the last two summers. Some of them father says are worth fully a hundred or more dollars apiece.”

“I should know those things about my own state,” apologized Bub, “but I’ve been so busy in the woods I’ve only had time to hear about them.”

“I’m going prospecting for gems this summer if I can arrange for it,” declared Stanley, his eyes flashing at the thought of adventure.

“I should be sorry if what I’ve told you would lead you to abandon steady and profitable employment,” said Laura, putting back her treasures.

“You need not feel sorry,” declared Stanley. “I shall not go in for it unless Bub can go with me. If he finds it’s dull in the woods and can get away we’ll take a short vacation and hunt gems. I suppose you’ll be next ​telling me that gold is also found in Maine.” And he smiled at the conceit of his fancy.

Her eyes became very serious. “Why, didn’t you know that?” she cried. “Gold has been washed out along Swift river up above and around Byron for years. Men have made good day wages up there right along, with an occasional nugget as a bonus. They say they can find color almost anywhere up through that section.”

“Well, I never!” gasped Stanley.

“Gold and pearls and amethysts and tourmalines and—” began Stanley, excitedly.

“And lots of other things that you can learn about later,” laughingly obtruded Laura. “Simply remember this: Maine is one vast storehouse of valuable, marketable gems. While gold is only found in small quantities it has paid day wages. But a fortune can be made out of the gems and is being made today. At Mt. Mica, in Oxford county, the mining of tourmalines has been carried on as a regular business for years. There are other mines just as rich, if you can find them.”

“And I trust you have found such a one,” said Bub earnestly.

“I honestly am inclined to believe I have,” she whispered.

​“I hope so,” cried Stanley. “It’s a wonder to me that money doesn’t grow on trees up here.”

“But it does,” gravely informed Laura.

He looked at her smilingly, then became dubious in his gaze as her eyes remained calm and serene with no trace of mischief in them.

“Of course you are joking,” he faltered.

“No,” she quietly replied, shaking her head.

“Miss Laura, I must believe it then,” he continued. “If you say dollars grow on trees I know they grow there.”

“You see those spruce down below—I mean that bright patch of green?” And she pointed towards the base of the mountain.

“I do,” he replied. “And does money grow in that particular orchard?”

“You are beginning to be skeptical,” she accused. “I’ll tell you no more.”

“I am not; I believe,” he cried, his tone desperate. “And Bub also believes.”

“I’d believe doughnuts grew on them if Miss Laura said so,” readily assured Bub.

“Then you are both nice,” she decided, “and I’ll tell you. I got a hundred odd dollars from those spruce last winter.”

“Spruce gum!” exclaimed Bub, clapping his hands.

​“Yes, but you shouldn’t have told him just yet,” she said.

“But spruce gum isn’t money,” protested Stanley.

“But a pound of it is worth one dollar and sixty cents any time, and perhaps more. That’s for the best gum. The seam gum brings about half as much,” she explained. “I earned from five to ten dollars a day. It had never been gummed and I only had to break or cut it off in lovely, clear pieces, large pieces, too. Mr. Reed, over at Byron, will take all you can deliver. He’s sold more gum than any man in the world—meaning spruce gum, of course. In fact, he is affectionately called ‘Gum’ Reed.”

“And have you now exhausted this wonderful storehouse of yours?” asked Stanley, his eyes gleaming with a new light as he wondered at his new knowledge and felt a keen desire to increase it.

“O no,” she replied and shrugged her shoulders. “I am only an ignorant city girl. I know but little of the woods. There are many other lovely and valuable things to be found in the rocks and woods that are fascinating to think of.”

“I say, Bub, think of having a spruce gum ​mine and making lots of money in the winter,” cried Stanley.

“But I’m tired of the woods; think of finding great big amethysts,” returned Bub.

“And it’s time for me to think of poor Mr. Whitten and father waiting to find dinner on the table while I am gossiping with you two,” added Laura, quickening her steps to return to the house.

“She’s a stunner!” admired Bub, after she had left them.

“I never knew a girl could be so sensible,” declared Stanley. “But what ninnies she makes of us with our ignorance.”

“That’s just it,” wailed Bub. “Here I’ve lived in the woods all my life and am as ignorant of lots of things as a clam. If course I’ve known about gum and have sold some. But I’ve wasted lots of hours in my trips when I might be examining a ledge for minerals, or opening fresh-water clams for pearls. Take a girl when she’s smart and there’s no getting ahead of her.”

After dinner and while Abner was smoking his pipe in the sun and giving some instructions to Bub, Stanley sought out Laura and with a bit of confusion asked, “Does your father intend to leave here soon?”

​Her lips quivered for a moment, and then she explained, “Father has about recovered his health now and would like to obtain a situation in Colorado, where he has many friends. The climate there would agree with him. But he has been out of the harness for four years and finds it hard work to get a place right away.”

“But why don’t you go out there and live till he gets an opening?” asked Stanley.

Laura flushed, but frankly explained, “We are poor. College professors do not get exorbitant salaries in this country. When my father was taken ill he was forced to find employment even while trying to regain his health. Fortunately he procured this work, which pays a living while making him a well man. But we have no means with which to board anywhere unless he has employment.”

“I beg your pardon for asking what I did,” humbly apologized Stanley. “I meant all right, and it’s a shame that a man as good and wise as your father should be dependent on a salary for a living.”

“He’s the wisest man in the world,” she murmured, clasping her hands in front of her. “The very wisest. He ought to be at the head of a-college—a big college.”

​“I wish I could help him,” muttered Stanley.

Instantly her mood changed and she laughed quietly. “At least, it’s no harm for me to wish it,” he remonstrated, his feelings hurt.

“You’ll forgive me, I know,” she soothed, her tone quieting him at once. “I thank you for your kind wish. I know you would help him if you could.” Then gayly, “And who knows but what sometime you can help him?”

“Who knows?” he repeated, as if talking to himself.

She eyed him stealthily and at last frankly declared, “You are a queer boy.”

“I know it—that is, I’ve been told so,” he replied, his thoughts still wandering.

“You came from the city?” she prompted.

“Yes,” he replied. “Perhaps foolishly so. I can see now I made some mistakes. I never would have believed it till I came up here and had a chance to look back.”

“If your coming has taught you your errors it has been a good thing for you that you came,” she encouraged.

“I am inclined to think it is; only, I do not see how I can profit by it and go back and correct my mistakes.” And he sighed, as he turned to rejoin the others.

​“You have been to school,” she said.

“I have been to what are called the best,” he replied, “I am ashamed to add that I have not always profited by my opportunities. However, with a new start I shall only have myself to blame if I fail again.”

“Success is made up of repeated failures,” she reminded.

“You are talking of honest failures,” he said. “But when a fellow deliberately makes a fool of himself, is headstrong enough not to admit it, blames everything on to someone else—why, he’s the worst sort of a failure.”

“But if he sees his mistakes and admits it, why isn’t he back already to start over again?” she eagerly persisted, now deeply interested in the youth.

“There are some things you can’t fix right,” he sorrowfully replied. “Sometime, when you feel better acquainted with me I’d like to tell you the whole wretched business. But I haven’t the heart to bother you now—nor would it be right for me to do so.”

“It would be right for you to talk with my father,” she gently suggested. “He is very wise. I am very simple. I could sympathize with you, but he could help you with advice. When you are ready, talk with him.”

​“I think I’ll talk with both of you,” he compromised, his old smile returning. “I hear Bub calling and won’t bother you any longer.”

“It’s a luxury to be bothered up here,” she called after him.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

INTO A STRANGE COUNTRY

On the second morning Abner announced he must go his way, but was prevailed upon to wait till after dinner, Stanley’s sprained ankle, thanks to a poultice of beech leaves, was fit for walking and there was no excuse for tarrying longer, except as the pleasure of the Carltons’ society might be considered such.

“We shall surely call here after we’ve finished our business on Flat-Top ridge,” earnestly assured Abner, his eyes roving towards the kitchen, whence emanated savory odors. “In the meantime, I guess I’d better have a talk with ye about my business.”

Withdrawing to a corner Abner produced his map and pointed out the east line of the disputed tract, and said, “Nace seems to have us up a tree. He holds that is our line, while we’re fighting to establish it over here to the west.”

“I know,” quietly said the professor. “I’ve been over all that ground. There are about ​eighty acres of the best growth in the State in that triangle.”

“How’d ye happen to go there?” asked Abner, much surprised.

“Mr. Hatton directed me to. Don’t you remember I said I was employed by your company? When I am making my regular trips I do a little cruising for Hatton. Not as you do it, but to see if everything is going all right.”

“Ain’t that just like Hatton,” grumbled Abner. “He never said a word to me about ye’re being up there. He gives me my orders as if I was the first one to tackle it, and here I be undertaking a forlorn hope. Of course ye could locate none of the old boundaries?”

“Not a sign,” firmly replied the professor. “Honestly, Mr. Whitten, I fear your errand is a hopeless one. I examined the east line very carefully and the cedar posts and other markings are there, showing every sign of age. But along the line claimed by the company I could find nothing to sustain Mr. Hatton’s contention.”

“That may be,” said Abner doggedly; “but any time I find Nace mixed up in a game I know it’s crooked. Why, he’d rather make fifty cents in a swindle than to make a dollar honestly.”

​“You evidently have a very poor opinion of him,” laughed the professor. “Despite his reputation I do not see how the company can go into a court of law and succeed in their suit to hold the land.”

“They’ve got to succeed,” cried Abner, smiting his knee. “It’s not only a question of more’n a hundred thousand dollars, but it’s a question of reputation. Never yet has the company lost in a law-suit. President Thaxter has always directed that the company shall not begin any trouble it can’t go through with and win out. Because of that fighting spirit—and always fighting to win—operators have been mighty skeery of stepping on us. Every man-jack of ’em knows he’s got to have the right on his side if he would whip the company.”

“Certainly; I appreciate that,” said the professor. “But if no litigation has been commenced how is the company embarrassed?”

“Ye mean law-suit by that litisomething,” mumbled Abner. “Taking it fer granted that ye do I’ll tell ye this much: Hatton has gone off half-cocked. He’s formally notified Nace that he should hold the land. Having gone that far and Nace having told other operators and made bets that he would beat us out ye can ​see the company will stand in a bad light ’less we win. I vum! I wish I’d know’d ahead that ye’d been over the ground. I guess I’d refused to undertake the job.”

“It’s too late for you to withdraw now,” reminded the professor. “But it is my duty as an honest man to repeat that I do not believe you can prove anything in favor of the company by going up there. Still you must go, of course.”

“If we can prove Nace out over that public lot that might be used as a club against him,” suggested Abner, scowling at his thick boots.

“Hardly,” denied the professor. “I’ve studied human nature enough to know that Nace will never let a hundred thousand dollars slip through his fingers for the sake of evading unwholesome publicity. If he has to he’ll pay the value of the stumpage—I believe you said it would run in excess of ten thousand dollars—and then he will clean up his tenth of a million. So far as injuring his reputation is concerned he won’t care a penny, for he knows he has none to be injured. He simply will bribe some paper to explain how it was a natural mistake for him to get over the line; then he’ll give a new bell to some schoolhouse, put a ​public fountain into his home city, and he’ll have the next election go his way as he always has in the past.”

“Wal, wal, I’m afraid ye’re right,” admitted Abner. “He was shrewd enough to measure all his chances before going into this. He’ll laugh at us. And once he wins in this he’ll be after the company with a sharp stick. Of course Hatton is in a sweat, because it may mean his job. President Thaxter won’t stand for any bungling. Do ye think I’ll be troubled if I go up there?”

“No; not so far as Nace is concerned if he is sure you’ll find nothing. And yes, if he’s left the matter to the discretion of some of his understrappers and Big Nick has any say. Of course if Nick should swear he was hired to set the fire by Nace or one of his agents it would look black for Nace, if the half-breed is shrewd enough to know that he may use it as a lever in compelling Nace’s gang to aid him in getting his revenge. Just how far those men would go I do not know. But I’d feel better if men instead of those two boys were going with you.”

“There’s no limit to the lengths them varmints will go,” said Abner soberly. “Hasn’t Nick repeatedly tried to murder us? I guess ​they have it writ up in the books that we three sha’n’t return to the mills. So far as I know they may have bagged Noisy Charlie on his way back.”

The professor shook his head firmly. “I don’t fear that,” he said. “I’ve known Charlie ever since I’ve been here. You can’t catch him napping; especially when he realizes what he is confronting.”

“And ye say ye saw nothing, or heard nothing when ye was up there?” asked Abner, seemingly fascinated by the possible dangers of the trip.

The professor paused and pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Well, I’ll say this: I know I was watched and followed. I believe it was by some agent of Nace’s. But I was not molested in any way. What might have happened if I had discovered anything I cannot say. I saw no one, but I came upon signs that told me enough. If I had been an experienced woodsman I could have read much more from those signs, I have no doubt.”

Abner shook his head dolefully. Then he declared, “I’ll fix up some yarn about gitting a message back to the mills and send the boys with it. Then I’ll go on alone, and if anyone is hurt it’ll only be old Abner Whitten. And ​I’ll pass out a-hoping that someone will be brought to book for the murder.”

“It won’t be discovered as a murder,” sighed the professor. “Word will come that you were caught by a tree, or some such report. If I were you I’d wait till Noisy Charlie comes along and then make the trip without the boys.”

“No,” said Abner firmly, “I won’t have it appear I’m afraid to go up there alone. I start after dinner, but the younkers must return to the mills.”

“Which the younkers most positively will not do, Mr. Whitten, humbly begging your pardon for overhearing your remarks,” broke in Stanley’s resolute voice.

“Which remarks ought to make you feel ashamed to look us in the face, Mister Whitten,” angrily added Bub’s voice.

“See here! Who’s boss ’round here? Me or two young varmints that come a snooping ’round and listening to their elders’ private talk?” fumed Abner.

“It will do no good to find fault with us,” gently replied Stanley.

“It won’t, eh?” blustered Abner. “Wal, We’ll see. When folks come a-spying ’round—”

​“We were not spying and you know it, Mister Whitten,” broke in Bub.

“It was entirely an accident,” insisted Stanley. “Professor Carlton believes that.”

“Of course, boys,” soothed the professor. “Both Abner and I know you are not capable of any meanness.”

“They may be angels—which fact I’m a-doubting—but they don’t go with me,” loudly announced Abner.

“Then we’ll follow you,” grinned Bub.

“Every camp you make you’ll find us near neighbors,” promised Stanley.

“See here, boys,” placated Abner; “let’s stop arguing. It’s absolutely necessary that I git word back to Hatton—”

“O ho!” roared Bub. “He’s forgotten so quick that we overheard about his ‘fixing up some yarn.’”

“Thought mebbe ye didn’t hear all I said. But ye don’t go with me.”

“All right. We can make the trip alone then,” said Stanley.

Laura in the background had overheard this conversation and now with eyes kindling approached and placed a hand on Abner’s shoulder. “Mr. Whitten, I was with Stanley and Bub when they came around the corner and ​caught your words. I do not want any of you to make this trip now. Wait till your guide returns and overtakes you. Surely, there can be no need of hurry.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Miss Laura,” said Abner. “It’s got to be done in a rush.”

“If that is the case,” she slowly said, “the boys must go with you. It would be a crime to let you make the trip alone.”

“Hurrah! ain’t she a brick?” cried Bub, swinging his hat.

“The court seems to be against you, Mr. Whitten,” laughed Stanley. “When do we start?”

“Right after dinner,” growled Abner, filling his pipe viciously. “And if any fool younkers meet with trouble, Abner H. Whitten ain’t to be blamed.”

After the three young folks had retreated triumphantly, Abner remarked, “Two of the best younkers a man ever had with him. That feller, Reddy, would kill out any case of blues just by gitting ye into trouble. It’s been like a three-ring circus ever since we left Kennebago stream.”

“I like them immensely,” heartily assured the professor. “But now as to the trip. Take one of my canoes and follow Briar stream. ​You’ll have to carry Snake falls and will find lots of swift water to be poled above that point. But you ought to make the trip in three days, even if you take it easy. You’ll find my blaze at the southeast end of the ridge and can follow it right through due north as the company claims the line was originally run. That’ll save you some time. You can take my line as correct, as I was very careful.”

The youths and Laura in the meanwhile were busy in planning on a reunion, as Stanley insisted on styling their next meeting. Bub tried to aid with the dinner but was expelled from the kitchen after spilling the flour.

The noon-day meal was eaten largely in silence, as each one realized the dangers attending the trip. Abner, however, was not deterred by any gloomy cast of thoughts from eating most heartily. When it came time to pack the knapsacks—kindly furnished by the professor to replace those lost—Laura quietly insisted on contributing various delicacies as well as a quantity of substantial viands.

“It’s the first time in my life I ever took home-cooking into the woods,” said Abner. “Guess Noisy Charlie would give me the laff if he knew it. He’d say I was gitting to be a reg’lar dude.”

​“Then we’ll leave Miss Laura’s cooking behind,” suggested Bub, winking elaborately.

“Wal, ye won’t,” cried Abner, beginning to get excited. “What do I care fer Charlie, or any other man’s opinion. I’ll take what I want to.” And he hurried to complete the packing as if fearing Laura might change her mind.

Professor Carlton and Laura accompanied the three half way down the mountain, when the youths insisted that Laura should return home. The professor completed the journey to the canoe, and after giving Abner additional explicit directions earnestly shook each by the hand and bade them God-speed.

That afternoon the cruisers took things easy, one of them always keeping a sharp outlook for Big Nick. But twilight found them peacefully arrived at a good camping-place with nothing having happened to disturb the placid quiet of their progress. Thus far they had used the paddles and Stanley began to pride himself upon his ability in this line. His exultation was short-lived, however, when Abner found he had constructed the lean-to in a stand of tall spruce.

“Want to kill us all afore Big Nick can git a whack at us?” rebuked Abner. “What d’ye ​s’pose Bub and me always picked a open place fer, if it wasn’t the best place?”

“I supposed you just happened to,” replied Stanley, meekly.

“See that limb, there?” and he pointed to a large bough that had been wrenched off by lightning or a tempest. Stanley nodded. “Wal, if yer lean-to had been standing beneath it we’d all be dead by this time,” continued Abner. “Pitch yer shelter out there in the open where nothing can fall on us if it comes up a blow.”

Properly humbled Stanley patiently undid his work and completed the slanting roof as directed. Bub grinned sympathetically and asked him if he were building a whole village.

Trout supplemented their domestic rations, and each said he had never enjoyed a meal more. Then Abner lighted his pipe for a brief smoke before turning in. An olive backed thrush, far up the slope, was singing an evening song. The echo faintly responded from some nearby mountain, while Stanley’s favorite, the hermit thrush, filled the woods about them with vocal purity.

On the next day the falls were encountered. Two tiresome trips were necessary to carry the canoe and supplies around this obstacle, ​and once the water road was resumed the paddles were laid aside for poles. Abner and Bub handled the poles, although Stanley begged to be allowed to help.

“We can’t run the risk of being dumped,” growled Abner. “We’ve got everything lashed tight, so’s if we should git dumped there’s nothing that can git away. But we ain’t taking no chances with a green man.”

“But I’ve learned to paddle,” protested Stanley, who did not enjoy remaining idle as if he could not be trusted.

“A child can learn to paddle,” sneered Bub. “But only men are allowed to handle a pole, my son.”

“I don’t see as there is anything very difficult about it,” answered Stanley. “You simply put the pole in and push. Think I’m going to loaf through all this swift water?”

“You surely will, my son, unless you get out and wade,” teased Bub. “Now, be silent, please; children should be seen and not heard.”

And to exhibit his skill to the envious Stanley he carelessly pushed on his pole and in a second it was caught between two rocks and the canoe capsized.

“What—what in sin be ye doing?” angrily cried Abner, as he rose spluttering to the surface ​surface and braced against the current to hold the canoe.

Between coughing and laughing Stanley could only point to the streaming, downcast face of Bub. Finally he managed to inform, “It is not my fault. Mr. Thomas, the expert is the one to blame.”

“Don’t see how my pole caught,” sheepishly bellowed Bub above the roar of the current.

With considerable effort and with each of the trio going under water more than once the delicate craft was worked ashore and righted. Nothing had been lost, but the flour was a dark brown paste.

“Give Reddy that pole and sit down and see if ye can keep quiet,” thundered Abner, as the journey was recommenced.

Bub silently obeyed and grinned ruefully as Stanley took his place and deftly performed his portion of the labor.

“It’s all in knowing how, Mr. Thomas,” he informed the disconsolate Bub. As no more accidents marred the day good progress was made before camp was pitched.

As Stanley was preparing the lean-to, this time in an opening, he was struck with the uselessness of going through the daily grind of ​cutting poles and gathering spruce or pine boughs.

“Why isn’t it more sensible to take a tent along?” he impatiently inquired, irritated by some remarks from Bub.

“Don’t want a tent,” grumbled Abner, still lamenting the loss of the flour. “If it had been in that canoe when we was spilled it would be soaked and heavy as lead. A tent ain’t the easiest thing in the world to pack ’round through the woods. If ye knew ye was going to be located in one spot for several weeks ye might consider it, but who wants to tote a heavy canvas when a few minutes’ work by a smart younker like yerself will build something to take the place of it?”

“Other folks must take tents with them,” replied Stanley.

“I guess not up in this region,” said Abner.

“Yes, up in this region,” persisted Stanley, his eyes gleaming in triumph as he believed he was about to get the best of the veteran.

“And why?” dryly asked Abner.

“Because if anyone built a lean-to they’d leave it standing. And here are the remains of a campfire and there’s no lean-to. That shows whoever built the fire had a tent.”

​“A campfire!” cried Abner, quickly leaving his task of preparing the coffee. “Where?”

Stanley indicated the charred embers he had discovered, and with a smothered exclamation Abner kneeled and examined them closely.

“They’re ahead of us,” he quietly announced as he rose to his feet.

“They? who?” asked Stanley, his voice a bit nervous.

“Members of the Nace outfit,” shortly replied Abner, his face drawing down.

“But how do you know?” persisted Stanley, gazing apprehensively over his shoulder at the still, dusky depths of the forest.

“It’s a fresh fire,” explained Abner, the worried look deepening on his wrinkled features.

Bub came forward and examined the blackened sticks and pieces of charcoal carefully. “It was built before the rain of night before last,” he said.

“That’s right,” frowned Abner. “And it means they are only a day ahead of us.”

“But why do you say ‘they’?” There may be only one,” suggested Stanley.

“They are following the stream. They have a canoe,” replied Abner. “If there was but one man we’d overhauled him. There are ​three or four. They slept in their blankets without a shelter. That means they are in a rush. I hope ye ain’t been cleaning the rifles again, Reddy.”

“I see to it that the rifles are loaded all the time,” chuckled Bub.

“Well, there’s one consolation,” declared Stanley, his voice full of confidence. “They did not believe we would come this way, else they would have concealed their fire.”

“That’s good woodsman craft,” cried Abner, his eyes brightening. “They took it for granted we would wait on Hood till Noisy Charlie come along, or they’d never left such a trail. So, we don’t have to fear an ambush, unless we go too fast and overtake ’em. We’ll be sort of quiet and Injun like to-morrer and keep a careful eye out fer all small clearings on the bank.”

That night Stanley did not rest as well as usual. Throughout his dreams the blood-streaked face of Big Nick played an important part and once Bub aroused him with a kick and asked him what he was groaning about.

“I thought the half-breed had me,” shivered Stanley, pressing close to his friend.

“Don’t cry till you’re hurt,” sleepily advised Bub. “We’re loaded now and we don’t run ​from a regiment of Big Nicks. Besides, he knows we are loaded and he won’t be as bold again.”

The third day was taken more leisurely. With Stanley able to handle a pole the previous day’s record could have been surpassed with ease; but Abner was content to advance slowly, ever keeping a close watch of the banks ahead.

“What I fear to see is a thread of smoke,” he explained to his young companions. “If they should let up their pace we’d come in sight of their campfire. That would mean we’d have to hide the canoe and make a circle around ’em, which would be hard work and would cost us time. If we can reach the foot of Flat-top Ridge without running into ’em I’ll be tickled to death. For that’s where we begin work.”

“Flat-top, eh?” pondered Bub. “That’s a new country to me.”

“As it is to me. I had orders to say nothing till we was about there. As we should see it when we turn the next bend I feel at liberty to speak.”

In a short time the bend was reached and three pair of eyes were anxiously focused ahead.

​“There she is,” muttered Abner, pointing to a long sugar-loaf shaped ridge. “This stream comes along its base. The disputed line is on the east end. If we can make pretty near the end we’ll take to the woods.”

For the rest of the afternoon dead water was encountered, which not only lessened the drudgery but also allowed more time to examine the banks. Whenever possible Abner hugged the east shore, believing those ahead would camp on that side as it would take them to the base of the ridge.

Several times Stanley gave a false alarm, mistaking some wood sound for a human voice. Especially deceiving to him was the conversational tone of the coon as twilight gathered. Although fooled by it the night he left the lean-to to evidence his courage, he could not rid himself of the belief but what he heard two men talking in low tones each time one of the animals sounded his note.

“We’ll camp here,” abruptly informed Abner, turning the canoe ashore. “And don’t build a fire,” he added as they quietly disembarked and threw their supplies on the shore. “That is, not till we find out if our friends are in this neighborhood.”

For some distance up stream and in back ​Abner went on a solitary scouting expedition, but returned with no news.

“I’ll go up that rise and climb a tree,” offered Bub. “If there is a fire anywhere along the stream I’ll most likely see it.”

Abner nodded his consent and Bub dashed away. Stanley would have gone with him, but not being invited believed his friend would prefer to go alone.

In a short space of time Bub came running noiselessly back.

“Well?” asked Abner, not lifting his head from the task of unpacking the food.

“I saw their campfire fully half a mile upstream,” panted Bub.

“I expected as much,” calmly announced Abner. “And it relieves my mind. They don’t suspect we’re in this neighborhood, or they’d mask it. Git some dry stick and start a small blaze back of them hemlocks. Ye needn’t be afraid of a little smoke, as it’s gitting dark, but don’t make more’n necessary, as that Big Nick can see like a hungry hawk. After we’ve had our supper we’ll hide the canoe and sneak in back towards the end of the ridge. It may be we can do our work and git out without their knowing it.”

​“Only it will mean we must eat cold victuals,” sighed Bub.

“We’ll be lucky if we’re allowed to eat anything. By jing! I’d give a cookie if Noisy Charlie was only here.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A VAIN SEARCH

Skirting the ridge from the river bank to the southeast point where Professor Carlton had commenced his survey and where Abner knew he would find the warden’s blaze the three cruisers took advantage of the remaining twilight to proceed towards their destination and put as much distance between them and the hostile camp-fire up-stream as possible.

Needless to say the small campfire built behind the hemlocks was carefully obliterated, Bub taking pains to scatter dried leaves and sticks over the dead embers. The canoe, too, was cunningly concealed a few yards from the bank. With all traces of their arrival thus eliminated the trio believed their presence would be unsuspected till some accident revealed it.

“And we must be mighty careful not to have any accidents happen,” cautioned Abner, who was leading the way.

“If them fellers believe we are at Hood mountain they will keep to the river, waiting ​for us to arrive. They won’t think of cruising around the ridge ’less they see a smoke, or hear a rifle shot. So, it’s short rations and a quick trip. Gitting back is what troubles me.”

“Why?” asked Bub.

“I expected Reddy to put that question,” replied Abner. “I’m afraid that by the time we’ve done our work the Nace gang will have learned we ain’t at Hood, and being suspicious that we’re up here they’ll begin snooping ’round a bit.”

“I feel a sprinkle,” broke in Stanley, who had been holding out his palm to test the weather.

“By jing! that’s so. It’s going to rain,” mumbled Abner. “We’ll have to find an opening and put up a lean-to. Only, ye’ll have to use yer knives in cutting the poles as we can’t risk any noise. “I’d planned on sleeping in our blankets to-night.”

“And what if they find the lean-to?” inquired Stanley, who preferred a drenching to the chance of meeting Big Nick and his friends.

“We’ll take the chance,” returned Abner. “It ain’t likely they’ll do any scouting while it rains and there won’t be any signs to draw ’em over here anyway. I’m too old to sleep in wet blankets ’less I have to. If my rheumatiz ​gits to capering ’round in my system ye’ll find ye have a cripple to tote back to civilization.”

“Never knew you had rheumatism,” said Bub, as they halted in a small opening surrounded by dense growth.

“Never had,” readily conceded Abner. “But I might have. And I’m too old to git use to it.”

The gathering darkness and the fact the hatchets were prohibited made the task of erecting the lean-to an arduous one. Besides the rain was pattering down quite steadily before the last spruce bough was placed on the roof and the three crawled into moist blankets in any but an agreeable frame of mind.

The continual drip-drip of the rain brought a feeling of homesickness to Stanley, which he sought in vain to fight off. His thoughts wandered persistently to the snug home up on Hood mountain and he recalled over and over the kind words and advice of Laura. His companions could not know what was on his mind, nor that long after their regular breathing told they were asleep that he remained awake and miserable.

The morning broke grey and sullen. The rain had ceased but threatened to fall any minute. Stanley gazed hopefully towards the ​east, trusting to find a faint glow that would betoken the coming of the sun.

“Ye needn’t spend time staring for clear weather,” snapped Abner, whose temper was a bit out of joint as he prepared a meager breakfast. “Ye ought to know by this time that when the clouds hang as low and heavy as they do now that it’ll keep it up all day.”

“He hasn’t been out in a rain storm before,” reminded Bub. “The only rain we’ve had was the night we slept warm and tight up on Hood.

“Will ye keep shut?” groaned Abner. “What ye want to bring up them memories fer? I’m trying to keep my mind off’n it. I vum! but I’d like to be sticking my legs under that table now. Real coffee with condensed milk and some of Miss Laura’s cakes and maple syrup.”

“She makes the best buttered toast I ever ate,” sighed Stanley.

“Let her and her toast alone,” harshly commanded Abner. “Want to drive me crazy? The idee of talking about toast when we’ve got to set down to soggy bread and cold victuals and no coffee. Prob’ly she’ll be having some of them hot rolls this morning. Never see a timber cruiser yet but what was a fool, else he wouldn’t be prying ’round in the ​woods when he could have a hot breakfast in a civilized way.”

The old man’s inconsistency evoked a faint smile from the two youths, but the day was too dreary for a thorough appreciation.

After the hurried meal Abner strapped on his pack and led the way through a fine drizzle. At first it was nothing more than a mist which caused their clothing to steam. Gradually the water began to trickle from their hat brims into their eyes and down their necks until Bub said he wished he could fall into a pool and get well soaked and have done with it.

With the exception of the wayfarers the whole wood seemed to be indoors. No bird calls gladdened their path; no unseen forms crashed away in alarm as they advanced. Only the monotonous drip-drip accompanied them. Under the spruce and pine they found something of shelter, but when the hardwood growth was penetrated Abner’s hand in pushing aside limb or bush sent a shower-bath over the two behind, and by the time they reached the foot of the ridge they were thoroughly drenched.

“Can’t we build a little fire and dry out?” asked Stanley.

“If ye could build a fire on all sides and ​overhead and carry it ’round with ye all day it might be a good scheme,” sarcastically replied Abner. “But fer me, I’d prefer not to go through the process of gitting wet ag’in. What good would it do ye if ye was bone dry this minute? In five more ye’d be wet a’gin. No, we’ll rough it. This is what city chaps pay money to enjoy in the woods.”

“Only they usually bring lots of tents and a stove and read novels inside while it rains,” added Bub.

“I can stand it,” laughed Stanley, now beginning to be amused at the water trickling down into Abner’s disgusted eyes.

“Shall we wait till to-morrow before beginning the cruise?” asked Bub, whose hopes were centered on an affirmative answer.

“No, sirree!” exploded Abner. “We’ll start in now. If this rain thinks it can make me quit it’s mistaken.”

“But we don’t ever work when it rains,” remonstrated Bub.

“That’s true when we are on a decent cruise, as the time we spend drying our clothes at night more’n takes off anything we gain. But this is a rush order and we’ve got to go through with it.”

“If the rain inconveniences us it will keep ​Big Nick and his gang under cover,” Stanley sought to encourage.

“I’d almost prefer to dodge a hot bullet to catching wet rain drops all day,” grumbled Abner, viciously pushing his way through some undergrowth. “Come on; we’ll make a start.”

With a doleful grin Bub winked at Stanley and fell in behind. For two hours the three climbed and fought their way up the side of the ridge. Then Abner came to a halt and began hunting for the warden’s blaze.

“He said I’d be sure to find it and could depend upon it,” growled Abner after several minutes of vain effort. “He didn’t know what he was talking about. I’ll bet there ain’t a mark within a mile of here. Most likely he started in at the other end of—”

“Possibly this is it,” broke in Stanley, pulling aside some rain laden boughs and revealing a chipped trunk.

“Wal, he must have took pains to hide it,” crustily acknowledged Abner.

But with the finding of the blaze Abner’s temper improved a trifle. In his zeal to run out the old line he forgot the rain in a measure and his eyes regained some of their old light as he eagerly worked his way due north.

​By the aid of his compass and map and with the youths some fifteen feet on either side of him he pursued his quest for a mile. The net result of his endeavors was zero.

To be doubly sure he carefully retraced his steps and arrived at the starting point without having discovered anything in the company’s favor.

“It’s simply a waste of time and muscle,” he complained as they came to a pause. “If Carlton couldn’t find anything it ain’t expected that I can. Every monument has been removed.”

“Does this end it?” asked Stanley, deeply disappointed at their failure.

“Hardly,” grimly replied Abner. “We’ll run the line Nace is depending on. Our line originally, as we hold, ran from here due north. Nace holds it runs from here northeast. And that leaves him the triangle of rattling good timber. Wal, let’s be moving.”

The second trip was made more quickly, as at every one-fourth of a mile the cruisers found the cedar post, encircled with stones and again encircled by blazed trees.

“Now we’ll cut to the west for a fourth of a mile and then we’ve made the round of the lot,” said Abner.

​This leg of their trip was accomplished in a pouring rain, the very heavens seeming to open in a purpose to drown them. Although protected by a noble growth, the roof of tree tops leaked in many places and Stanley never before realized how much water his clothing could hold. The water squashed in his boots at every step and his sleeves were spouts, ever sending two trickling streams down his arms and wrists. His hat was a sodden rag.

“Now we are where we were when we turned back after tracing the west line,” informed Abner, coming to a halt. “This makes twice we’ve gone over this line going backward, or three times in all. I guess I’ll let ye two follow it out, as there ain’t nothing to be found, and I’ll take a dip into the lot and make a few stands. Might as well git an idee of what we’re losing while I’m about it.”

Bub nodded and took the lead, striking a true course to the point where Professor Carlton had made his initial blaze. The youths proceeded slowly, each secretly anxious to find some trace of a monument or boundary mark, in order to crow over Abner. As a result the three arrived at the starting point at about the same time.

The rain began to lessen, but it was not the ​promise of a clear to-morrow that caused Abner’s eyes to light up with enthusiasm.

“Younkers, it’s one of the best bits of spruce I ever see,” he cried, smacking his lips. “I made about ten stands and figger it will run ahead of any eighty acres in the state.”

“And we can’t have it,” reminded Stanley, sorrowfully.

The light faded from the veteran’s gaze and he bowed his head. “I was so took up with the timber that I plumb forgot it isn’t fer us to operate,” he groaned. “Why! it’s simply a shame to let such a growth git away from the Great Northern. If I wasn’t a honest man I’d shift them posts back where Nace prob ’ly took ’em from in the first place.”

“That would be hardly honest,” protested Stanley. “We are not positive that he removed them. We only suspect it.”

“Of course we can’t do it, although anything would be honest if it beat Nace,” snarled Abner. “But it wouldn’t do any good to shift ’em, as he’s had surveyors up here, who’ll swear as to where they found the posts. I must admit that all the marks are there as he claims, even to the marks on the beech beside the half-mile post. I guess we lose.”

“Well, what next?” demanded the practical ​Bub. “No use crying over spilled milk. If we can’t find anything, we can’t, and we might as well eat. The company can’t blame us for failing to do the impossible.”

“I hate to give up,” remonstrated Stanley.

“Seeing it’s the first time I ever failed I kind of feel the same way,” shortly informed Abner. “Start a small blaze, Bub.”

“Going to risk a fire?” inquired Bub, his tone showing surprise.

“Yas, I’m going to risk a fire,” returned Abner, completely losing his patience. “Is it fer me or one ye younkers to say what I’ll risk?”

“Certainly it is for you, Mister Whitten,” politely answered Bub.

“Wal, git busy, then. I’m going to have some hot coffee no matter what happens. Only, ye needn’t feel called upon to make a bonfire.”

But the steaming coffee did not work any radical change in the veteran’s temperament. It was not the discomforts of the day that affected him; it was the knowledge that he had failed for the first time in his long career.

“It ain’t fair,” the youths heard him muttering to himself as he moodily filled his pipe. “It ain’t right to send me up to do detective ​work. I’m a timber cruiser. Give me a cant and I’ll cruise it and tell how much she’ll cut and what equipment is needed. But I never advertised myself to be a detective that could find what ain’t to be found. Hatton said I needn’t come back till I’d won out. His own job was in the balance. I’ll beat back to the warden’s and send in word I’m looking fer a new place.”

Stanley grimaced as he overheard this confession of defeat and gazed appealingly at Bub. But the latter simply shook his head, indicating that he, too, surrendered and believed there was nothing they could do.

“How long do we stay here, Mr. Whitten?” finally asked Stanley.

Abner raised his head and stared vacantly; then as he sensed the query he shortly replied, “I’m waiting fer Noisy Charlie to arrive. If he don’t come by to-morrer I’ll start back. He knows where to look fer us and should turn up by to-morrer morning.”

“Isn’t there anything he could do to help us?” anxiously asked Stanley.

Abner knocked out the heel of his pipe in deep irritation. “S’pose a Injun guide can cruise better’n I can?” he demanded. “Charlie has his fine points, but when it comes to ​locating lines and monuments I can teach him his A B C’s.”

“That’s so,” whispered Bub. “If Abner can’t win out, no one can. When Hatton sent him up here he knew he was sending the best man in the state. But he can’t do the impossible.”

“Did Hatton mean what he said about discharging him if he failed?” murmured Stanley.

Bub grinned, “Guess he’d change his mind if he did,” he replied. “Anyway, Abner would be so touchy that he’d refuse to go back unless he succeeded. So far as a job is concerned there isn’t an operator in Maine, doing business on a big scale, but who would be glad to get Abner. He’s had lots of offers from all over.”

“Then he means what he says; that he gives up all hope and admits the fight is lost?” queried Stanley, his eyes flashing.

“That is exactly what he means, my son, and I’d lose lots of sleep over it, if that would help any,” returned Bub.

“I feel mad clear through. I’m going to walk it off. Give me the rifle,” gritted Stanley, rising.

“I wouldn’t take a gun, Stanley,” advised ​Bub. “Take an ax. You won’t meet anything that needs a gun, and it would only mean you’d have to clean it up after you got back. Leave the gun in its case and take an ax, my son.”

“All right,” agreed Stanley. “Don’t worry about me. I can find my way back. See, it is about to clear up.” And he pointed to a rift in the clouds where a spear of sunshine was stabbing its way through to gladden the earth.

“Don’t leave the ridge, and be careful to keep along our blaze,” yawned Bub, feeling inclined to take a nap.

Abner lifted his head with a jerk. “Where ye going?” he sharply demanded.

“Only for a little stroll to get some of the mad out of my system?” sadly smiled Stanley, grasping the ax.

“I don’t blame ye. Follow the blaze due north and ye can’t get lost. And as I don’t relish the idee of staying behind with this magpie I’ll cruise over towards the enemy’s camp and see what they’re doing. Stay here, Bub, and keep camp.”

“Come back in good temper, Mister Whitten; and be careful that Big Nick doesn’t get a crack at you. Take a rifle?”

“No,” decided Abner. “I don’t figger on ​being seen. No use to git the guns wet. Remember, Reddy, don’t leave the blaze and don’t fail to git back before it’s dark.”

“I’ll be here before you are,” promised Stanley. “I shall not go far. The sunshine is beginning to cure me already. So long, Bub.”

“Be sure and find all the missing monuments,” cautioned Bub.

“As Nace has stolen them and set them up on the other line I fear I can’t,” laughed Stanley. “But I feel it in my bones that we’re going to win out yet.”

“What ye feel in yer bones is a touch of rheumatiz,” grumbled Abner, striding away towards the river.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A DISCOVERY AND A CAPTURE

Stanley felt quite an adventurer as he picked his way from blaze to blaze. When with the others he had simply followed their lead. Now all the responsibility rested on him. Of course the frequent patches left by Abner’s hatchet were a sufficient guide even to his untrained eyes. He simply had to keep along this line to pick a correct course, both going and returning. And yet the undertaking was tinged with an air of danger.

In the first place he was alone; secondly, his isolation permitted him to people the woods with hidden foes. He grasped the ax firmly as he advanced and smiled grimly to find himself moving with cautious tread. Once a porcupine leisurely crossed his path and he half-raised the ax, expecting to meet some dangerous enemy.

When about half way down the line he halted irresolute. For some unnamed reason he felt impelled to return.

“Nonsense,” he told himself. “Nothing can ​be wrong with Bub. I said I would go to the end of the line and I will.”

Still the vague feeling of alarm accompanied him as he closed his lips and resolutely resumed his way to the north. It seemed a long mile, but at last he came to the last blaze and willingly turned to retrace his steps.

As he took the backward trail his desire to do something to aid Abner got the better of his nervousness and he found himself closely scanning every foot of the way between the marked trees. He half smiled at his conceit, but persisted in his search. Only he did not know what he was searching for. It would be almost a miracle if Nace—providing he had shifted the boundaries—had left any tell-tale clues behind him. Reason repeatedly told him this much, and yet his optimism kept urging him to search.

“Well, I confess I’m several kinds of an idiot,” he frankly assured himself as he leaned against a large tree to rest. Through a rift in the swaying roof he could catch a glimpse of blue sky. The sun as yet had not penetrated his resting place, but it was comforting to know that once back in the open he could speedily dry his soggy clothing.

As he ruminated over the last few days and ​Abner’s great disappointment he began to go over the situation in detail. Nace had everything to prove his case. Even the big beech with the surveyor’s private mark, made nearly a century before, still stood as a witness for the suspected operator. This led him to notice that the tree he was leaning against also was a beech and his eyes opened in admiration as he decided it must be nearly three feet in diameter.

“It’s more than two and a half feet,” he mused, tapping the trunk idly with the back of his ax. “It’s fully as large—yes, larger—than the one on Nace’s line. It’s about half way.”

Then his breath came in a gasp as his ax-head hit a place that gave back a dead sound.

The bark looked smooth, yet it felt beneath the ax as if the wood were dead.

“It can’t be! it can’t be!” he murmured, sinking down at the foot of the tree.

Then he rose and examined the trunk more carefully. “How Bub would laugh at me if he could see me,” he muttered. But the more he tapped the bark the more excited he became and at last he cut a notch above the hollow sounding spot and one below it.

“That will be a strip about eighteen inches long,” he whispered, hardly daring to proceed.

​“Now I’ll measure outside the dead spot about five inches. That makes it ten inches wide; now to cut it out. But I must work carefully, so I can replace the bark. For if Bub or Abner should find it I’d have to confess and then they’d joke me ever after.”

Composing himself he quickly cut the four sides of the panel of bark and drawing a long breath wrenched it loose. With an inarticulate cry he stood dumbfounded. There on the tree, clearly outlined in every detail, was the linked circles crossed by the arrow, just as they had found it on the other beech. There were the original owners’ initials, also.

“Can it be! Can it possibly be!” he repeated over and over, staring with mouth agape at the ancient record preserved in the tree trunk.

“Am I dreaming, or is it real?” he whispered, pinching himself to make sure he was not asleep. But there was no doubt of his important discovery and his heart expanded and he felt dizzy as he faintly realized this one tree was worth more than a tenth of a million dollars as it stood.

Finally he collected his scattered senses and examined the panel of bark. Here he had new reason for wonderment and exultation. For ​the inside of the bark in fitting into the ancient marking had grown ridges that were the reverse of the circles and initials. He knew that if it were held up before a mirror it would read as did the original.

Then the magnitude of it swept over him; he had found by accident what Abner, the veteran could not. It was all clear to him now. Nature, on discovering the wounds inflicted by man, had promptly set to work to heal and conceal. The bark had gradually formed a new protecting surface over the marking, invading all the creases in its effort to undo man’s work.

Sometime within the last few years Nace had discovered that if the cedar posts were shifted it might be possible to get possession of a big slice of this timber land. A beech was mentioned in the original description of the true line. He had found no beech bearing any record of the survey and had passed this hidden monument unsuspecting. But he had found a big beech about half way of the line he intended to substitute. The original beech had been destroyed, he undoubtedly believed. But the ancient beech on his fraudulent line would be accepted as the genuine. It only needed the mark of the two circles and arrow and the ​initials. This forgery he undoubtedly did himself, not trusting another, Stanley concluded. And in doing it he was cunning enough to give it every appearance of age. Then after a few years had passed and nature had come to his assistance in furthering the deception he had announced his holdings to include the disputed territory.

“I can’t make it seem true even yet,” complained Stanley to a squirrel chattering at him from a nearby limb. “It’s simply ridiculous that I should blunder onto this all-important tree.”

This line of thought led him to a graver one. What should he do with his discovery? Should he hasten to camp, triumphantly bearing the strip of bark as his first impulse urged him; or should he proceed more cautiously and prudently?

“Now, let’s get this thing right,” he pondered, frowning at the bark. “If I leave this here it will be almost too dark to fetch Abner to this spot to-night. I’ve got to tell him to-night or I’d go crazy. If I take it with me and anything should happen a half of my proof and the best half would be lost. For Nace could claim he committed the forgery on this beech, while everyone would know he couldn’t grow ​this bark so as to tell a lie. No, the bark is the important thing.”

As he was thus weighing the situation he was suddenly seized with alarm. He had heard no sound, he had seen nothing, and yet his heart began beating like a trip-hammer. It was similar to the sensation of fear he had experienced a short while before, when wandering away from the camp.

“I guess, Mr. Bark, we’ll hide you here,” he whispered, peering stealthily over his shoulder.

As he searched about him for a hollow tree or log in which to place his treasure he laughed aloud gently.

“To think I would be silly enough to hide the bark and leave the tree exposed. Of course the bark must go back in place, also the chips I cut out. Now to find them.”

Owing to the care with which he had removed his exhibit he found it an easy task to replace the panel so as to defy all but the most careful scrutiny. Even the chips, where he cut the notches at top and bottom, were arranged in place by the means of several pegs. Then to more effectually cover up all traces of his work, he found some reindeer lichen and trailed it across the tree.

Then he stepped back a few feet and tested ​it. He could discern nothing that would indicate what was hidden beneath the panel. As he was about to turn away, however, he noticed he had left the twigs and ground at the foot of the beech like an open book to a woodsman. He paused long enough to erase all signs of his having been there. This done he swung his ax over his shoulder and started rapidly for camp.

Bub had asked him to find the ancient and original records. He had found them. And how Bub’s eyes would roll and how Abner would splutter when he sank wearily into a sitting posture and by degrees unfolded his great secret. He would play the part of one discouraged and work the situation up to a disagreeable climax before imparting his news. If possible he would lead Abner along into scolding him.

But as he neared the end of his mile cruise he found his joviality leaving him. He was unaccountably depressed. It angered him to confess it. Here he was, bringing the best of news, and yet he felt as if something had gone wrong. He quickened his steps, and then halted irresolutely.

If he arrived and neither of his friends were there to welcome him he would not know what to do. It would be easier to wait out in the ​woods than to linger by the deserted campfire. Of course Bub would be there, and yet there was no atmosphere of home-coming for him as he came in sight of the opening.

“O-ee-e-e!” he sounded through his hands, pausing again for he knew not what reason.

There was a space of absolute silence and then faintly came back “O-e-e-e!”

“That’s Bub,” he muttered. “But his reply doesn’t sound very cheerful.” Next he smiled; for why should Bub feel cheerful? If Bub knew what news was being brought to him he would be dancing and prancing to meet his chum.

Again Stanley sounded the call and again it was answered; this time more clearly, but with no particular cordiality in its tone.

“Hi, Bub!” cried Stanley, as he drew within calling distance. “Where are you?”

“Here,” returned a sullen voice from beyond a bunch of ground hemlock.

“Well, cheer up, Mr. Thomas. Can’t you give me a better welcome than that?” There was no reply and Stanley continued, “I say, old man, it’s bad enough for Abner to have the blues, but when you—Heavens!”

The exclamation might well be forgiven him. For bound to a tree, his mouth distended by a ​cruel gag and wholly unable to speak, was Bub, tears of rage filling his eyes as he beheld his unsuspecting companion walking into the trap.

With a low cry Stanley turned to escape into the woods, but was tripped up by a villainous looking man, who laughed harshly as he made sure of his second victim.

In a few minutes Stanley found himself tied to a tree near Bub, only he was not gagged. As he looked about he beheld two other men lounging on the ground, but rejoiced to observe no signs of Big Nick.

“Take that gag out of my friend’s mouth,” were the first words he uttered.

“Sort of use to giving orders, eh?” grinned the man who had tripped him.

“Let the cub have a free breath,” advised one of the men on the ground. “Besides, we shall want them to talk pretty soon.”

“You miserable cowards to abuse him so,” raged Stanley.

“Shut up!” warned the first speaker, slapping him across the mouth. Then, adding a curse, he said, “He wouldn’t promise not to give you warning. Pretty soon he may refuse to give us some information, but he’ll be glad to. So will you.”

“You can strike me, because I am helpless,” ​whispered Stanley, his face livid under the blow. “But untie me and you do not dare do it.”

The man laughed, but not heartily, for there was something in the youth’s face that caused him to pause and change his mind and lower his upraised hand.

“Let the cubs alone,” growled one of the men on the ground. “Ye are too ready to knock people ’round ’fore it’s necessary, Pete.”

“Cut out using names, Joe,” growled Pete.

The third man chuckled. “Better both on ye do it,” he advised.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said the man called Joe; not seeming much disturbed. “I don’t think these two will tell any tales on us. That is, Big Nick says they won’t. Gave me his word of honor they wouldn’t blab a thing.” And he leered hideously.

“Which on ye cut Nick’s head open?” asked the third man.

“I did,” proudly answered Stanley, his eyes glittering. “And I would like to be turned loose with the same club against you three murderers.”

“Ye would, eh?” growled the man, who had cautioned Pete to leave the prisoners alone. ​“We’ll make ye sing another tune in a few minutes. How’s yer mouth, Sonny.” The last to Bub.

“Didn’t you know, Stanley, I never gave that signal,” he asked, ignoring the man’s query. “Couldn’t you tell it wasn’t my answer? It seemed as if my heart would break when you kept coming ahead and not suspecting any danger.”

“I did suspect danger; or rather, I felt as if something had gone wrong,” replied Stanley. “I knew the signal didn’t sound right, but supposed the fault was with me.”

“Shut up that chinning,” commanded Joe.

“Three of the bravest fellows I ever saw,” admired Bub, his face flaming with anger. “So brave they jumped me from behind, never giving me a chance to defend myself.”

“We’ll give ye a different sort of a chance pretty soon,” grimly promised Pete.

“Let’s eat,” suggested the third man, rising lazily.

As he prepared bacon and potatoes, drawing on the cruisers’ store for the bacon, Joe and Pete held an earnest consultation, frequently pausing to listen for some signal from the forest.

“S’pose we’d better stay here till Nick ​shows up,” finally remarked Pete in a tone that carried to the strained hearing of the pale faced youths.

“We stick right here. Either that old hound will come back, or else he’s taken fright and is now being hunted by Nick. Lucky Nick found that campfire they thought they’d hid, and then located the lean-to!”

The youths knew that Abner was meant by “old hound” and each prayed fervently that he would escape capture.

“He won’t stand a ghost of a show,” continued Pete. “He hasn’t any gun with him.”

“How do you know he hasn’t?” cried out Bub.

Pete grinned wolfishly. “Cause Nick found out ye only had two rifles when he first began stalking ye,” he explained. “And here be both on ’em now.”

“Let me warn ye,” cautioned Joe with an oath, “that if ye try to give any signal I’ll cut yer throats.” And he pulled out a murderous looking knife to accent his threat.

Even as he appreciated his danger Stanley was thankful that it was due to no error of his that the half-breed had found their trail. He was also thankful that none of the evil gang knew of his discovery in the woods. At first ​he was tempted to whisper his secret to Bub, but feared that the latter by his expression would reveal his satisfaction and excite the men’s suspicions. If that were done he believed they would resort to torture but that they would have the truth from one of them. So he closed his lips and kept his news to himself.

Evidently the men had no fear that either youth would call out and warn Abner, should the old man approach the camp. This was doubtless due to their knowledge that Big Nick was searching high and low for the veteran and was expected to find him.

“What will they do with us?” murmured Stanley from the corner of his mouth and so softly that none of their captors heard him.

“Leave us for Big Nick to finish,” shivered Bub, hanging his head to conceal the movements of his lips.

“I’m afraid that we’re in for it,” murmured Stanley.

“I should say we are,” replied Bub. “There is but one chance in a million that Noisy Charlie will come in time. I’d back him against the whole outfit.”

“We can hardly expect him to arrive,” ​agreed Stanley. Then resolutely, “We must try to escape.”

“I’m tied so tight my blood can hardly circulate,” groaned Bub. “If we escape it must be at night; that is, providing we are released from these trees.”

“Them younkers are whispering,” drawled the third man, busy with the coffee.

“Catch ye at it ag’in and I’ll hurt ye bad,” growled Pete, slouching up to them and scowling into their white faces.

“I was saying my blood has stopped circulating,” replied Bub in a weak voice. “I guess I’m going to faint away.”

Pete studied them for a moment undecided, and Stanley added, “Why can’t you let us lie on the ground? We can’t get away.”

“What d’ye think, Joe? Shall I rope ’em up on the ground?” asked Pete.

Joe came over and examined the two critically. “Mebbe ye’d better. They’d be no use if they croaked before we’ve got what we want from them. Unhitch ’em.”

It was a great relief to the youths to find themselves on their backs, although tightly bound. But in releasing them from the trees the men took care to separate them so that they could not converse without being overheard.

​The three men ate heartily of bacon and potatoes and cursed their prisoners roundly for not having any flour in their packs. But they did not offer to give them any of the food.

“I’m hungry,” defiantly announced Bub, as the three finished their meal and proceeded to light their pipes.

“Be ye?” drawled the third man, smoking with great relish. “It’s a good sign in a boy or a hoss to be hungry. Shows natur’ is trying to build up the system. Then by an’ by ye’ll feel thirsty.”

“I’d like a drink of water now,” said Stanley.

“There ye be,” admired the tormentor. “That’s a good sign. I know’d ye’d come to it.” But he made no offer to give either food or drink.

As the evening shadows closed in on the little group the men became impatient. “It’s too late for us to go gunning for the old hound. We’ll have to trust to Nick. What say to putting in the beans?”

This seemed to meet with favor and soon a hole was dug in the ground and filled with wood. This was fed until heaped with coals and then Joe produced from under a bush a huge kettle filled with beans. Evidently the ​villains had prepared to cook this at their original camp, but on finding traces of the cruisers had brought it with them. The kettle was snugly covered and buried in the coals and then packed over with earth.

“Thar!” admired Pete. “In the mornin’ that will be one of the best kettles of beans ye ever was denied a chance to taste.”

“Then you mean to starve us?” calmly asked Stanley.

“Mebbe yas and mebbe no,” slowly answered Pete. “It all depends on how glib ye talk in the morning. We are just trying to git ye into a sweet frame of mind so’s ye’ll answer a few questions. That’s all.”

“You all realize that you will pay a stiff price for this abuse?” warned Stanley, his jaw thrust forth as his fighting blood dispelled his fears.

All three laughed as if deeply amused. “What price can we pay, Sonny?” tantalized Joe between puffs. “Two younkers and a old man git lost in the woods and never come back. Who’s to blame?”

“So it’s murder, is it?” cried Bub. “You may kill us, but Noisy Charlie will have your scalps in return.”

The three men straightened and stared at ​him angrily. “That is just the point we want to question ye about,” informed the third man in a low, cruel tone. “We intended to wait till mornin’, but I guess we can hold a term of court right now.”

“Where is this Charlie?” asked Pete, his tone uneasy despite his attempt at carelessness.

“He’s nearer than you think,” jeered Bub. “I wouldn’t be in your shoes for all the timber in Maine. My! but won’t he walk it to you. They say he chased a man clear across to Manitoba once and—”

“Shut up, ye young devil!” roared Joe, hurling a stick of firewood at Bub. The missile left a red streak on the youth’s forehead, and Stanley groaned aloud in mingled fear and fury. He believed Bub was to be murdered on the spot. But Joe was restrained from following up his assault by Pete, who advised:

“Take it easy. Don’t let the cub rasp ye. Time enough to-morrer. They ain’t been tied up long enough yet. Wait till mornin’, when they ache in every limb and are dying for a drink of water, let alone some of our beans.”

“You can kill us by inches, but we’ll say nothing to help you,” declared Stanley, passionately.

“Mebbe not; mebbe ye’ll change yer mind,” ​chuckled the third man. “Once we git the old hound I guess he’ll talk fast enough to save ye.”

Stanley remained silent, for he knew that while Abner would suffer any torture before he would tell his plans, the sight of either him or Bub being abused would loosen the old man’s tongue.

“Now we’ll go to roost,” announced Joe. Saying this he dragged the boys in between him and Pete and tied a rope onto their arms and legs which in turn he passed around his and his companion’s waists. This meant that if the boys sought to escape the least tug on the rope would arouse their captors.

“And if ye git uneasy in the night and wake me up by twistin’ ’round I’ll make ye sorry,” warned Pete, savagely.

“I guess it’s no go,” whispered Stanley in Bub’s ear as the two laid packed closely together.

“What worries me is Abner,” murmured Bub. “He is either captured or else he knows what is up and is keeping low.”

“Bub,” gasped Stanley in a horror filled voice, “What if he should be—”

“Don’t,” groaned Bub. “Big Nick hasn’t caught him yet, or he’d be coming into camp. ​The fire the men made could be seen by that villain for a long distance. He’d climb a tree, and if he couldn’t see it, he’d smell it. Abner is safe so far. But O! how I wish he had his rifle.”

“Keep shut!” snarled Pete, giving Bub a vicious kick.

Bub winced under the blow, but gritted his teeth and made no sound. Stanley’s eyes filled with helpless tears, and the two became silent.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

MRS. BRUIN PAYS A VISIT

The morning broke warm and clear with the three men not awakening till long after the hour the true woodsman bestirs himself. The youths slept but little during the night and were softly whispering encouragement several hours before their captors showed any inclnation to arouse themselves.

“They were drinking from a bottle last night,” murmured Bub. “They’ll get up feeling ugly. I’ve seen the stuff work at the mill. We don’t allow drinking there, but sometimes the men break over and they’re always out of temper when they sober up.”

As he finished speaking Pete gave a growl and turned over on his side. As this brought the rope tightly about his waist he began to kick vigorously, cursing in a sleepy voice all the while.

At the first sign of danger from the flying eels Stanley and Bub drew up their legs and Joe received several of the blows. Being incensed he kicked back and the situation began ​to be serious till Bub let fly with his feet, crying lustily, “Hi, you two big cowards, want to kill us!”

This brought the men to their senses and still cursing they untied the ropes and staggered to their feet.

“What d’ye mean, ye young whelps, by kicking me like that?” bellowed Pete, drawing back his heavy boot for a blow.

“Your friend kicked you. We’re black and blue from your brutality,” protested Stanley. “If you intend to kill us, do it; but don’t kick us to death.”

“Shut up,” snarled Pete, stirring the third man roughly. “Hi, Ben, git up.”

Ben, like the other two, was in a nasty temper and swore roundly at Pete for calling him by name. “What ye didn’t give away last night ye can be counted on to tell this mornin’,” he accused.

The three might have fallen-to and attacked each other, if Bub had not foolishly taunted, “There’s mighty little we don’t know about you. Jim Nace never sent a bigger pack of blunderers to do his dirty work.”

The three stood and looked at each other in silence for several moments. Pete was the first to speak and there was something very ​dangerous in his low, even voice as he said to his mates, “Boys, that settles it. It ain’t a question of Nick having his way. It means state-prison for us if these brats leave the woods.”

“Ye’re right,” agreed Joe, his brows black with evil passions. “I don’t remember just what we let out last night, but we must have given the whole game away.”

Up to this moment Stanley could not make himself believe that the men would kill him. What Big Nick might do if he returned to camp was the most serious problem on his mind. He feared brutality, especially if he refused to divulge anything they might ask for; but in the back of his mind he had not thought they would slay him in cold blood. Now the sweat stood out on his brow as he watched them. There was no violence in their behavior now; instead, they appeared grave and thoughtful. This mood he wisely decided was more to be dreaded than any exhibition of fiery temper. They had been harsh and abusive. Now they were filled with a common purpose: to escape detection. There was but one way they could do this; they must remove all witnesses. And, unappreciated by the youths, each of the villains realized that Jim N ace would disown them and ​their acts should they fall into the toils of the law. This knowledge steeled them to cover their tracks at any cost.

“Forgive me, Stan. I guess I’ve settled it now,” whispered Bub, his voice choked with sobs.

“Don’t you mind, old man,” soothed Stanley. “If you hadn’t given it to them I should have. Anyway, we’re not dead yet.”

The men moodily prepared their fire and coffee, each seeming to avoid the eyes of the others, as if some fell thought would reveal itself should he raise his head. And yet each knew that his mate was asking himself the same question: How and when? Nor did this change in demeanor fail to carry its warning to the prisoners. Had the men raved and cursed each of the youths would have entertained the glimmer of a hope; but the grim silence, the brief interchange of inquiring looks, all foretold of a horrible plan.

At last, as the coffee was set aside and Ben was digging out the kettle of beans Pete quietly asked, “Shall we wait for Nick?”

“No,” quickly 'replied Joe. “No need of having more in the game than is necessary.”

“I say yes,” spoke up Ben, taking the cover from the kettle and dipping the point of his ​hunting knife into the savory beans to see if they were done to suit him. “He had the first grudge. We would only be actin’ in self-defense; but if he’s anxious to take the job off’n our hands, why not let him?”

“I guess them is my sentiments,” slowly decided Pete.

“I’m willin’ to go the whole hog,” brutally announced Joe. “But if ye two think that way, why, I’ll stand back. I only hope we won’t be sorry fer waitin’.”

“How can we be sorry?” scoffed Ben. “Any chance of their getting away? We’ll be hearing from Nick almost any time now.”

Before sitting down to their breakfast the men lifted Bub against a tree and tied him. “Let the t’other one wait till we finish,” suggested Joe, returning to his coffee.

As the others were about to follow his example the report of a rifle held them transfixed like so many statues. Then came a long drawn out cry, like the scream of a lynx.

“It’s Nick, and he’s sighted his game!” yelled Joe, leaping to the rifles.

Instantly Pete answered the signal and armed himself. “Come on,” he shouted to Ben. “We may head the old hound off if we work sharp.”

​“I’ll stay and watch the brats,” Ben offered, loath to leave his breakfast.

“We’ll be back in a minute,” cried Pete. “Take their guns and foller us.”

With a sigh Ben appropriated the cruisers’ rifles and disappeared in the woods at the heels of his blood-thirsty companions.

“Bub Thomas, if ever we had a chance it is now,” cried Stanley, straining at his cords.

“I’m choking myself to death trying to work loose,” gasped Bub, his swollen face bearing out his statement in part.

Groaning in mental as well as physical anguish Stanley rolled back and forth, struggling to release himself. “Oh, for an inch of freedom!” he sobbed. “If my finger was a bit longer I believe I could do it. It’s cruel! cruel to be held like this.”

“Oh, heavens, Stan!” sobbed Bub. “We’ve lost our one chance. They’re coming back.”

Stanley, bereft of all hope, caught the crashing sound in front of them. Suddenly he whispered, “It doesn’t sound like them.”

“Maybe it’s Nick, sent back to do the work,” shuddered Bub, now hanging very limp from the tree.

“The hemlock moves. Whoever it is he is very cautious,” whispered Stanley.

​Bub strained his head, but was unable to see the newcomer. Stanley, although prostrate on the ground, could see the bushes and ground hemlock moving as if the intruder was half decided not to advance.

“Bub!” he cried in a strangled whisper. “It’s a bear.”

Bub’s form became rigid as Within his range of vision a large black bear appeared. Walking flat-footed and swinging its head from side to side the small fierce eyes were centered on the campfire. With a thrill of hope both realized that bruin as yet had not observed them, but was following up the odor of the pork and beans.

At another time the youths would have found a rich comedy in the bear’s maneuvers to obtain the coveted kettle. Fearing a trap, angry at the smoke and suspicious of the man-smell she timidly advanced and as often gave a snarling growl and awkwardly bounded back. Finally one hook of a claw caught in the bail and the kettle jumped from the fire.

This action on the part of the kettle instilled fresh alarm in bruin’s breast and she retreated half into the hemlock, rumbling savagely.

Stanley was hoping the men would return and be destroyed by the bear. Then the absurdity ​of this wish was realized and he could find no hope of release from the unexpected intruder. Bub was concerned only with a fear that the bear would sight them and maul them to death. While knowing his fate had been decided by the three men, let alone Big Nick, he was tenacious enough to want to live till the last second.

Only the steaming smell of the kettle saved the boys from being discovered at the outset. But Mrs. Bruin, mindful of her cubs at home, and extremely fond of pork odors had nostrils for the kettle alone. It was hot, but now gingerly tipping it over some of the beans escaped and cooled and with a grunt of joy she gulped them down.

That first taste was so delicious that she cast caution to the winds and juggled the kettle deftly between her big paws in an endeavor to obtain more. But the beans were not so easily dislodged and beyond a few cupfuls she progressed slowly.

With her appetite keen set Mrs. Bruin was not inclined to be annoyed overlong. She announced as much in a deep throated growl as the kettle slipped to the ground. Then her eyes lighted cunningly and she slowly dipped her nose into the kettle. It was not as hot as she feared, that is the beans on the surface, and as ​a huge piece of pork just tickled her nose she became desperate and with a strong push shoved her head through the opening and deep into the kettle.

But if the beans on the surface had cooled a bit, those beneath were steaming hot and with a roar of pain the bear opened her mouth and frantically tried to free herself. Her sensitive nose was being cruelly burned and the kettle fitted tight. Had she worked gradually, using one of her intelligent paws, and above all things had kept her mouth closed, the triangle of a face would have been drawn forth.

Being crazed by her burns and now thoroughly convinced it was a trap—as she should have known from the man-smell—she lost all idea of cunning and rearing on her hind legs began a mad dance about the opening.

“She’s going into the fire!” cried Bub, his eyes distending at the unusual spectacle.

His voice, coupled with her imprisonment, now caused the bear to lose what little sense she possessed after first being trapped, and with a mighty spring she fulfilled Bub’s prophecy and landed in the smouldering embers. Her muffled roar was changed to a scream of anguish as she danced clear of the coals. With a frenzied effort she jumped to ​one side, her head striking a tree a smashing blow and breaking the kettle.

Finding herself free she gave another roar and plunged into the wood.

Stanley had held his breath as their visitor hit the tree beside his head and he sighed deep in relief as he beheld her departing.

“She’s gone,” choked Bub.

Stanley did not reply. His eyes were glued on to a piece of the kettle that had landed close beside him.

“Why don’t you speak, Stanley? Did she step on you and kill you? ” cried Bub.

“No,” replied Stanley, not shifting his eyes. “I’m still alive. I am figuring on getting that piece of iron that is about six inches beyond my reach.”

“Roll over to it,” begged Bub, his face twisting to keep pace with Stanley’s efforts.

“If I could have done that I would have rolled into the fire long ago,” panted Stanley. “They hitched one end of the rope to the tree.”

“Go it, Stan! Go it,” pleaded Bub, puffing out his cheeks and straining at his bonds as if that would help his perspiring companion.

“I—can’t—make—it,” groaned Stanley, ceasing his efforts.

“Stanley Malcolm, you can make it,” ​

“She’s going into the fire!” cried Bub

See page 299

​reproached Bub. “I could make it if I had your chance. Even Abner Whitten could make it. A cripple could make it! Get that chunk of iron!”

With a sobbing moan Stanley threw himself madly forward, but instead of trying with his hands so shifted his position as to bring his face all but against it.

“NOW!” yelled Bub. “Get it!”

And with a final effort Stanley stretched his neck another fraction of an inch and worried the iron within reach with his lips. Then he went limp, exhausted.

But Bub was a hard taskmaster and he now urged, “Want them to return and kill us? Get busy with that iron.”

“I’d like to work for you by the week,” choked Stanley, fumbling the piece of metal between his fingers and assailing the rope.

“Not that rope!” warned Bub. “What are you wasting your time on that one for?”

“Who’s doing this?” muttered Stanley, increasing his efforts. “I’m tied to the tree, I tell you. I can’t come to you till I’m free.”

“Forgive me, Stanley. But rush!” whimpered Bub, now on the verge of hysteria as he really believed they stood a chance of escaping.

​With repeated strokes Stanley severed the cord and then rolled rapidly to Bub’s feet.

“Can’t you loose your hands?” whispered Bub.

Without replying Stanley brought his back against Bub’s legs and began cutting the rope.

“Freeing my feet won’t free my hands,” reminded Bub, his eyes now fixed in the direction taken by their captors.

“Shut up!” muttered Stanley. “Hold still!”

“You’re cutting my leg,” timidly informed Bub.

Stanley made no response but increased his frantic movements. At last Bub announced “My feet are free. What next?”

“Curl them around me and help me to my feet,” panted Stanley. “I can’t reach the cord around my own feet and I can’t get to your arms unless you help me up.”

Bub caught his idea instantly and after several trials aided Stanley to a standing position. Leaning back against Bub, Stanley then felt blindly for the cord holding the hands imprisoned behind the tree trunk and sawed for his life.

An occasional groan warned him he was nipping the flesh, but without halting he continued. It was sweet music in his ears as Bub ​half-screamed, “You’ve done it, Stan. You’ve done it!”

And in a few twists and turns he stepped clear of the tree. “Now give me that piece of iron,” he grimly demanded, his jaw squaring as he glanced over his shoulder, fearing the return of the men even in their moment of victory.

“Knife in my pocket,” hoarsely whispered Stanley, completely exhausted by his exertions.

In a second Bub had secured the knife and with three strokes was able to help Stanley to his feet.

For a few moments the two could do nothing more than hobble into the woods, so benumbed were their limbs. Had the men returned at that time they would have found it easy to run the youths down. Repeated rubbing finally allowed of a slow, awkward gait, but freedom was sweet at any price and the youths could only evidence their joy by silent pressures of the hand.

“Where to?” asked Bub, after they had placed a half a mile between them and the scene of their capture.

“We’ll follow the men,” doggedly announced Stanley. “If they’ve got Abner we’ll make a try to release him.”

​“Good boy,” approved Bub, heartily. “That’s the way to talk. If they’ve captured Ab and find we’ve skipped they’ll never expect us to come around their camp; and we’ll snag Abner free or get caught ourselves. If I only had a rifle!”

“I shall always feel kindly towards bears,” mused Stanley.

“And baked beans,” thoughtfully added Bub.

“Why! that reminds me,” gasped Stanley. “Why didn’t we think to take some of the provisions? We left blankets, food and everything.” And he halted irresolute. “Shall we go back and get them?”

“What!” cried the horrified Bub. “Go back there? Why, Stan, I’d die a hundred times out here in the woods first. You have a knife; let’s cut two stout cudgels. They will be better than nothing.”

“That’s all I had when I hit Big Nick,” reminded Stanley. “Then we can fasten the knife onto a pole and spear some fish. We won’t starve.”

“I should say not,” cried Bub. “It’s easy to get food in the woods. The only thing that worries me is where we can find Abner.”

Stanley thought long and earnestly and then ​suggested, “Wouldn’t he try to lead them from the camp, fearing they would find us? If so he’d beat down the river. He’d never go up stream as the ridge would hedge him on one side. Besides, he wouldn’t want to place the ridge between himself and us.”

“That’s just what he would do,” heartily agreed Bub. “And, Stan, I must say I’m proud of you. You reason like a veteran woodsman. Not only would he go down stream to draw them from us, but also in a hope of meeting Noisy Charlie. O if he could only lead them within range of Charlie’s rifle. The Injun would bag every one of them.”

Despite their earnest conversation they kept a keen watch as they stole along, pausing frequently to listen. Once Stanley thought he heard the report of a rifle, but could not tell in what direction of the woods. When sufficiently removed from the camp Bub climbed several trees, hoping to get some clue of their enemies. On one of these occasions a rabbit, pursued by a lynx, broke through the woods and ran across Stanley’s feet. Responding to his nerves he promptly emitted a yell that nearly caused Bub to lose his hold on his aerial perch.

“Wh—what is it?” he faintly inquired, fearing his friend had been recaptured, yet loyally ​betraying his own position in order to learn the worst.

“Nothing but a rabbit,” answered Stanley, still trembling from his fright. “Hurry down. Another rabbit will scare me to death.”

“You can’t let out many more yells like that last one without attracting some unwelcome callers,” warned Bub, eager to lead the way from the spot.

“Would that sound carry far?” anxiously asked Stanley.

“Big Nick would hear it a half a mile away easy,” frightened Bub. “But he might not know what it meant; especially as he believes we are prisoners.”

Stanley again felt the strange sense of fear that had overcome him just before he was captured. Clutching Bub’s arm he whispered, “Let us conceal ourselves right here, somewhere. My nerves are all shaken to pieces. I feel as if we were in great danger.”

“That would be worse than foolish,” remonstrated Bub. “Let’s get away from here while we may.”

But Stanley was firm. “I must have my way,” he whispered. “I feel as I did when alone in the woods; as I did when I woke up and found Big Nick standing by me.”

​This startling bit of information caused Bub’s hair to stir at the roots and he protested, “If you talk like that you’ll have me scared blue. Come, I’ll find a hiding place.”

It took him but a moment to select an ideal spot for concealment. With a sigh of relief Stanley crawled in beside him, after which Bub carefully arranged the growing things so that no clue to their presence would be afforded a keen-eyed passerby.

“If Hatton ever gets me out on a job like this again it’ll be because I’m crazy,” softly whispered Bub.

“Which reminds me,” as gently informed Stanley, “I’ve found the old record. The company wins if we can get clear of this country.”

“It’s no time for joking,” reproached Bub.

“I am not joking. I have found what Abner sought,” earnestly assured Stanley.

Bub’s eyes filled with tears. “Poor old Stan,” he snivelled. “It’s a shame. Don’t think any more about it, old fellow. You’ll feel better by and by. Try and go to sleep. You can rest your head on my shoulder.”

“Do you think I’m crazy?” inquired the amazed Stanley.

“No, no,” soothed Bub, to whom this seemed ​the cruelest blow of all. “It’s all right. You’ve done fine. Now try to go to sleep.”

“Bub Thomas, if you keep on talking in that creepy tone I will go insane in earnest,” snapped Stanley. “I’m not mad, you silly. I was trying to tell you what I found.”

“Honest, Stan, do you mean it?” exclaimed Bub.

“I tell you yes, a hundred times, yes,” repeated Stanley, now becoming irritated.

“Then you’ve made your everlasting fortune,” announced Bub in an awed voice.

“If there is a fortune in it you and Abner and Charlie are equal partners,” said Stanley sharply.

“But we didn’t find it?”

“Well, you found me, didn’t you? Now keep still while I tell you. For if anything should happen to me and you get back you can tell Hatton.”

He then proceeded to give Bub a full account of his adventure with the beech tree. The thing that impressed Bub the most was Stanley’s forethought in replacing the bark instead of bringing it into camp.

“For if you had brought that with you the gang would have killed us off hand,” be declared firmly.

​“I believe they would,” admitted Stanley. “I tried to do what I imagined you and Abner would have done. And reason whispered ‘Be careful.’”

“Reason wouldn’t have whispered that to Bub Thomas,” firmly said Bub. “I’d let out a whoop you could have heard down at Umbagog and waving it on high I’d run to camp and plump into the accommodating arms of Joe and Pete and Ben—may they all reach state-prison.”

“Hush!” hissed Stanley, pressing Bub’s arm. “I hear something.”

Bub cocked his ear, but the wild throbbing of his heart deprived him of his usually keen sense of hearing.

Before either could make a tell-tale movement, or utter a betraying sound, the undergrowth just in front of their hiding place softly parted and they found themselves staring into the swarthy face of Big Nick.

Stanley’s lips were opened to utter a wild cry, but Bub’s hand brought him to his senses. They were in deep shadows and the half-breed had not seen them. It was obvious he had heard something that had aroused his suspicions, possibly Stanley’s outcry when frightened by the rabbit. Both knew he was there ​for a purpose by the manner in which his burning glance sought to penetrate the way ahead. After pausing for the fraction of a minute he disappeared as silently as he had come, and his path was towards the camp.

“He has learned we are prisoners and he’s going back to pay off old scores,” shuddered Stanley.

“That means he will strike our trail and be after us the minute he finds we have escaped,” warned Bub. “He’ll read the whole story of the bear and how we got free in a glance. Then he’ll be after us.”

“How much leeway have we?” whispered Stanley.

“Until he reaches the camp and takes his first look,” replied Bub. “Now it’s whiteman’s woodcraft against an Injun’s. Come on.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THE TWO SMOKES

For the second time in his life Stanley experienced the sensation of being pursued by an implacable foe. To Bub all was well as long as he could maintain his lead; not so for his companion. The very knowledge that the cool, mysterious depths of the forest contained a man grimly following his trail unnerved the city bred youth in a degree, and although he believed Big Nick could not discover their escape for some time, yet he repeatedly glanced over his shoulder as if expecting to see the evil face. He began to appreciate how the rabbit must have felt when chased by the lynx.

Bub quickly understood his friend’s mental plight and seizing him by the shoulder he whirled him about and drew him down on to a decayed log.

“What is it?” asked Stanley in a perturbed voice.

“Nothing; except we will wait here till you get your nerve back,” calmly replied Bub, ​carefully shaping the handle of his club more to his liking.

“But we are wasting valuable time, precious time,” expostulated Stanley, starting to rise.

“We’re wasting time when you keep peeking back over your shoulder,” said Bub. “We’ll rest till you’re the same Mister Malcolm that had brains enough to hide the strip of beech bark and who was more level-headed than I was when we were tied up in camp. Now, my son, take this to heart: you are just as safe here, now, as that young spruce. Our danger doesn’t commence till Nick learns the truth.”

“But we should use that time in escaping,” protested Stanley.

“Not the way you’ve been escaping,” sharply corrected Bub. “You’re not escaping when you leave a swath of broken bushes, upturned stones, and heavy footprints in every dead log you come to. Look back there for fifteen feet. It looks as if a cyclone had passed here. Why, even a cow could follow us. Now, if you’re going on in that way, we might as well wait here and put up a fight before we’re exhausted.”

“I’ll be more careful,” promised Stanley, humbly.

​“You think, then, you are ready to go on in a sane manner?” queried Bub.

Stanley smiled in a sickly fashion, and Bub slowly closed his knife and rose to his feet. “All right; we’ll strike off. A quarter of a mile between us and Nick, after we’ve moved carefully, is better than ten miles of that kind of blazing.” And he pointed in huge disgust at the obvious traces of their flight.

“To begin with,” continued Bub, “we’ll turn at right angles and double back towards Flat-top. Nick will follow us to this point on the run and will take it for granted we were pointed down stream, as we were. After we’ve gone back a half a mile we’ll turn again and go in our original direction, perhaps following the stream quite closely.”

Having learned his little lesson Stanley pressed his lips together firmly and endeavored to imitate his companion’s deliberate mode of traveling. To his relief he soon found the old fear deserting him and it was seldom that he looked back.

Although seeming to proceed aimlessly Bub in reality was exercising all the tricks of his craft, just as he would wish Abner to know he was doing. He bowed low and passed under, not through, obstructing boughs and dry limbs. He ​stepped over, not on, the decaying logs, and his feet were careful not to leave a stone with the moss side downward. When encountering a small dead pool he took great care to skirt it at a sufficient distance to leave no footprints. After an hour of this kind of work he threw himself on a carpet of pine needles for a brief rest.

“How much farther do we go in this direction?” inquired Stanley.

“Only a short way. Just as soon as we clear this growth and find some hard wood I’ll climb a tree and get our bearings more exactly. Mister Nick will be puzzled, I opine, to decide where we vanished to.”

“He may think we made a broad trail purposely,” suggested Stanley.

“I hope so; he’ll be giving us credit for more brains than we possess,” grinned Bub. “No matter what he thinks it won’t help him any when it comes to picking up our trail.”

Emerging from the black growth Bub quickly climbed a large beech and studied the country for fully a minute in silence. When he descended he briskly announced, “No smoke anywhere. I’ve come a bit farther north than I had intended to, but not enough to make any great difference. We’re quite near the river. ​In fact, I’m striking it too high up. If I thought there was any chance of finding a rifle in the scoundrels’ camp by the river I’d rick cruising over there and making a try.”

“They wouldn’t leave their guns behind,” opposed Stanley, who had no desire to encounter the villains.

As they were leaving the hard wood growth both experienced a fright when a flying squirrel passed over their heads in gliding from a maple to a stunted oak.

Bub looked sheepish as he apologized, “It’s no wonder it scared you, but I ought not to have budged an inch. Guess I jumped three feet.”

“I could look over your head, so I must have jumped higher,” consoled Stanley. “The squirrel reminds me I haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday noon. I’m faint.”

Bub puckered his brows thoughtfully and admitted, “I feel empty under the belt, too. Wonder if you could manage to eat raw partridge?”

“No, no,” protested Stanley, making a face.

“Then you can stand it a while longer. A man isn’t starving till he can eat raw meat.”

“I could eat with a relish a whole partridge if we had it and it was cooked,” insisted Stanley.

​“Most any man could,” smiled Bub. “Perhaps we could run the risk of a small blaze at that. I could pick out some sticks that would make practically no smoke. Now, keep quiet and we’ll see if we don’t run across a booby.” And he fingered his club eagerly.

Not many rods had been passed before Bub suddenly let his club fly and then darted after it with a low cry of triumph. He had knocked over a fine cock and by the time Stanley joined him he was finishing cleaning the bird.

“Now for a blaze, a very small one,” he rejoiced. “Hi! not the pine. I’ve told you once that pine is a smoker. Let me do it while you cut some green sticks, alders will do, for toasting forks.”

Under his careful manipulation a small bed of coals soon awaited their game. By the aid of several rocks he arranged the sticks so as to allow the divided bird to broil over the coals.

“We could hold them easier and cook the meat better,” criticised Stanley.

“We could if we were to be here,” agreed Bub. “But now that dinner is cooking we’ll move back into the woods and hide up. Then if any of the blood-thirsty rascals should creep up to the fire they wouldn’t find us at home. That clump of cedar bushes will do, only be ​careful and not dig up the ground with your boots when you crawl under.”

To Stanley’s impatient mind it seemed that they had waited many minutes before Bub gave the signal to emerge. “You stay here,” he whispered and I’ll fetch the dinner. Then we can eat as we walk along.”

In a short time Bub was back, triumphantly carrying the half-cooked partridge on a piece of birch bark. “Sorry we haven’t any napkins,” whimsically apologized the cook.

“If I had one I’d eat it,” declared Stanley. “Please give me my share.”

“There you are, my son, only don’t bolt your victuals,” cautioned Bub.

Stanley examined his portion with his nose wrinkling in disgust. “Why, it’s covered with ashes,” he complained. “And part of it isn’t cooked at all.”

“It is rather rare in spots,” admitted Bub, taking a mouthful. “But it will keep us alive for a while. By this time to-morrow you’d be glad to eat the whole bird, feathers and all. Why don’t you try? Things are never as bad as they look.”

“This is; it’s worse,” grimaced Stanley, nibbling at a charred morsel. “Why! Bub, it ​doesn’t taste like the other partridge. Are you sure it isn’t some poisonous bird?”

Bub chuckled heartily. “It’s because it isn’t seasoned. It is fresh, I’ll confess. If we had a little salt it would help it along wonderfully.”

“I can’t eat any of it,” decided Stanley, about to toss it away.

“Yes, you can,” drawled Bub. “Think I‘m going to kill game out of season, build a fire and run the risk of being murdered only to have you find fault with my cooking? Eat, my son. ”

Stanley obeyed, smiling faintly, and found that while the fowl was fresh it was not impossible as food and before he knew it he had devoured all the meat that even hinted at being cooked.

“If we’re at liberty by nightfall I’ll broil you a squirrel. It’ll go better,” encouraged Bub.

“Or we might catch some fish,” eagerly added Stanley.

“You’re planning out a regular hotel dinner,” condemned Bub. “Besides, a fresh water fish, with no seasoning, is about the freshest thing you ever tackled. It’s worse than partridge, for the bird lives on buds and the like and are sort of gamy even when eaten without salt. But a fish is just wishywashy. There isn’t any expression to unseasoned fish.”

​More tree climbing now followed, Bub examining the direction of their camp as well as the ground ahead. “Not that I expect to see any signs of Nick,” he explained, “but there might be one chance in a thousand that I could spy him on a ledge or in a tree.”

“Will he climb trees?” cried Stanley.

“I never patented the idea,” grinned Bub. “You must realize, my son, that by this time Mister Nick is very busy trying to find us.”

“In other words we are again in the zone of danger,” sighed Stanley.

“Yes, if you mean by that we are being hunted,” replied Bub. Then in deep admiration, “My, but I wish I could talk as you do, Stan. An education is a wonderful thing.”

“You have improved a million per cent already,” encouraged Stanley, speaking most sincerely.

“Do you really think so?” eagerly pressed Bub.

“I know so,” returned Stanley, firmly. “You are as well educated as I am—better. You had certain loose habits of speech because you have lived with careless men. But you have no idea how you have dropped that habit. By the time we reach the mills you’ll be giving me pointers.”

​Bub scornfully refuted this, but was immensely pleased, nevertheless. The ground now began to descend and Bub’s face took on a worried look. “I hate to strike a swamp, or even moderate low land,” he explained as he caught Stanley’s inquiring eyes. “At this time of the year it will be wet and leave a trail like an open book. Wait, I’ll climb a tree and see if there’s a way around it.”

He studied both sides of their course long and earnestly, but was compelled to announce: “The swamp runs from the river far inland. If not for meeting Nick we could beat back and go around it on the ridge. But that is too much of a risk and we must chance it straight ahead.”

“We could take to the river. We have the canoe,” reminded Stanley.

“Yes, if we wanted to escape from this region. But we’re out to find Abner,” said Bub.

“Never for a moment did I think of leaving here till we had found him,” warmly declared Stanley. “I thought we might take to the canoe and drop down below the swamp.”

Bub shook his head. “No go,” he discouraged. “They’d pick us off inside of a mile after we'd landed, for they’re hugging the shore to keep Abner inland. Our only chance ​with the canoe would be to wait for night and try to shoot down in the darkness. Chances are we’d be spilled at that.”

Lack of food and loss of sleep, together with their steady flight through the woods, was now beginning to tell painfully on both and mid-day found each little inclined to talk and walking doggedly.

At last Stanley gave a low cry of relief and threw himself on his face at the edge of the swamp.

“Hi, what are you up to?” demanded Bub, in a low voice. And he pulled his companion back.

“I want a drink. I’m all parched up,” said Stanley. “For the last few hours all I could think of was springs of clear cold water.”

“That’s nothing,” sniffed Bub. “I’ve been doing the same thing, only I thought of it in rivers. But you mustn’t drink this.”

“Is it poison?” asked Stanley, his face falling.

“Not poison,” returned Bub. “The waters in Maine are not poison, not any of them. But this isn’t what you’d call wholesome. It wouldn’t kill you, but it might make you sick. Of course there isn’t as much chance for that ​as there is later in the season, but we’d better drink of the best so long as we can.”

“But where is the best?” eagerly inquired Stanley, still eying the silent pool lovingly.

“Right here, after I’ve put in my filter plant,” explained Bub, beginning to dig a hole near the swamp.

“A well, eh?” mused Stanley. “Will you have time to finish it?”

“It’ll be done in a minute. Here, take the stick and go at it. Then I’ll spell you. I won’t try to polish it off as I would if we were to stop here.”

Their united efforts soon resulted in quite an excavation and Stanley was surprised to see it fill with water. Only the water was muddy; and he observed, “That’s worse than the other. I’d rather drink from this little stream that’s trickling away.”

“That little stream is filling our well,” replied Bub. “The original water won’t kill you, but it would be like drinking a menagerie. Now we’ll bail this out.” And using his hat he soon emptied his small cistern.

Stanley was again surprised to observe the hole fill up with much clearer water, water that looked inviting. And without waiting for it to settle he leaned over and drank deeply.

​“The first thing about Maine water,” informed Bub, after refreshing himself, “is that it’s cool. That helps a lot. And I never heard of any spring or stream up here that by nature is dangerous to drink. Of course a river is filled with typhoid fever germs where city sewers empty into it, but any stream that’s not been poisoned by man will never poison man in this state. Now, let’s be going.”

Nearly two hours were consumed in crossing the swamp, the youths often floundering up to their waists. Bub evidenced a fear of striking a deep hole and warned Stanley they must keep within helping distance of each other. Stanley replied with stories of quicksands he had read and Bub ’s apprehension was increased to a high pitch before firmer footing announced they were leaving the mud and muck.

“Ain’t we a sight?” puffed Bub, as he halted and scraped the mire from his legs.

“I’ll wait till my mud dries,” shrewdly decided Stanley. “Then it will come off easier. I guess Big Nick could follow that part of our trail all right.”

“It will close up as smooth as ever in a short time,” said Bub. “Now, we’ll enjoy decent going.”

“I’m thirsty, awfully thirsty,” muttered ​Stanley. “But I don’t want to delay long enough to dig another well.”

“We won’t have to,” cheered Bub. “Up there I see an Indian cucumber plant that’ll answer nicely.” And he pointed ahead into the woods.

Stanley curiously examined the slender stem, some two feet in height and girdled with leaves surmounted by more leaves and blue berries.

“See, it grows horizontally,” said Bub, pulling it up. “Try it.” Stanley did so eagerly and found it deliciously cooling. Bub found several more and before proceeding they had quenched their thirst.

“You can always find it in low woods,” reminded Bub. “You fix it up with salt and pepper and serve it with trout and it’s better than the real cucumber for me.”

“What a wonderful place is the wood,” murmured Stanley. “And what a wonderful thing is nature. I never realized until I came to Maine that one could get food in the wilderness unless he shot or caught it.”

“In other words you never stopped to realize that everything we eat and wear springs from nature,” smiled Bub. “That’s because you’ve lived in the city, where everything you see is artificial. Your druggist sells you some ​medicine, which may be nothing more or less than this little Canadian snake root, which finds a ready market.” And he pulled up a small plant and held it at arm’s length. “Back there at the swamp we made our way through the northern scouring rush, those three and four-footers you got so impatient with. A city chap coming up here to camp out would probably bring along soaps and scouring powders, not knowing that that rush is one of the best scourers and polishers you can find or buy. Why Stanley, the woods and fields are just filled with plants and herbs that will cure you of sickness or keep you from starving. We used beech leaves for your sprain after using the professor’s liniment. The leaves alone would have fixed you all right. Now say you had inflammation; then we’d used that plant over there. It’s nothing but common mullen, and you can always find it in an open spot. Noisy Charlie could doctor you for almost any illness just from what he knows of plants.”

“I take off my hat to the Maine woods,” humbly declared Stanley. “Instead of being a play-ground, or a lumber center I can now appreciate they are the backbone of the state. Everything depends upon them; water, food and clothing. But while I’ve been ​day-dreaming over this endless fairy-book you’ve been opening for me I’m reminded now to ask, What of Nick?”

Bub frowned. “It’s time I was thinking of him,” he admitted. “Wait till I shin up this tree. I can get a good look at our back trail.”

Swarming up the trunk he paused but a second before he quickly slid back again. “I saw something move the rushes on the edge of the swamp,” he whispered, his eyes suddenly dilating. “Let’s leg it.”

“Now, wait a bit, Mr. Thomas,” calmly commanded Stanley. “We’ll leg it, as you so elegantly put it, only after we’ve decided where we are going and why we are going. Be calm, my son, and get back your nerve before rushing away.”

“It’s Nick, I know it is,” hurriedly whispered Bub, for some strange reason changing places with Stanley and now becoming the one to be calmed and encouraged. “He’ll kill both of us.”

“Possibly,” agreed Stanley, surprised at himself as he failed to find any symptoms of nervousness in his system. “But he won’t bag us while we are madly dashing in line with his gun. We’ll have something to say about ​dying.” Then sharply, “Come, get yourself together. Brace up!”

“Stanley, you’re the better man of the two, even in the woods,” earnestly declared Bub, squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw. “You were nervous because it was new to you. You conquered that feeling. It was old to me and I pitied you; then I turn around and give way to it. I’m worse than a coward.”

“Honestly, Bub, I believe that if I’d started in to show the white feather you’d have been as you were this morning,” soothed Stanley. “When one’s down the other is up, it seems.”

“I had no business to lose my nerve,” bitterly cried Bub. “Come, let’s be moving. We’ll have to double to the east and leave no trail. If he picks up the traces where we quit the swamp he’ll believe we are striking dead ahead.”

The afternoon sun was now casting long shadows across every opening while the warm rays occasionally caressed their backs as they silently fled before it. Tattling crows overhead cawed derisively at the two bowed figures and seemed to take a malicious delight in keeping pace with them and calling out to other wild kin that here were fugitives.

​“Big Nick will know where we are because of those blamed crows,” growled Stanley.

Bub halted and sounded the note of the owl and the nuisance faded away, only the sullen flapping of their wings indicating their course.

“If you could only drive all enemies away as easily,” panted Stanley.

“Whew! Let’s rest,” said Bub, wiping the sweat from his brow. “If I’d known I was to be chased all over northwestern Maine by murderers I’d asked Hatton to raise my pay two dollars a week. I think it’s worth it.” And he grinned lamely.

“How much daylight will we have?” anxiously asked Stanley.

“In the woods here it will get dark early. Out of the woods we’d have the sun till about seven thirty-three. Then we have the moon till past midnight.”

“Do we travel, or do we camp?”

“We’ll take one more try from a tree top for the campfire of those scoundrels,” slowly decided Bub. “Then we might as well rest up and cook some boobies. We can’t get through to-morrow without food. And this chasing through the woods doesn’t help us to find Abner.”

“I don’t see as we can stand much chance of ​finding him unless he’s captured and his captors’ smoke tells where he is,” pondered Stanley.

Bub nodded an affirmation and slouching his hat over his tired eyes staggered forward. As the black growth was interrupted by a patch of budding red maples he turned and frankly confessed, “I’m ashamed to say it; but I’m that tuckered I wish you’d do the climbing. All you have to do is to shin up to the branches, then get up as far as they’ll hold you and sweep the horizon, first for a smoke, then for mountains. We’ve heard no guns and I hardly think Abner has been caught.”

“He had no food and if Big Nick got on his trail he would have no chance to eat or drink,” reminded Stanley. “I fear he’s too old to last out against Nick. Anyway, I’ll do the climbing.”

Arriving at the top Stanley first examined the back trail, despite Bub’s warning to look first for a smoke. He was thrown into a tumult to notice a rustling in the top of a maple a few rods back, and then sheepishly realized it was nothing but the wind.

Turning his eyes to the west he found that the low hanging sun blinded him till he learned the trick of properly shading his eyes.

​“I can see nothing,” he called down to Bub.

“Then descend,” directed Bub.

“Hold! As I live, I can make out a thin streamer of smoke!”

“Point in which direction,” cried Bub.

“Directly in the path of the setting sun,” informed Stanley. “That is why I did not make it out at first.”

“Hurry, hurry. We must make for it and learn the true situation,” urged Bub.

“Why, Bub, I can make out two streamers of smoke, very near together, yet distinct. Ah! one is dying out now. Now there is only one.”

“Hump yourself, Stan! They’ve caught Abner!” yelled Bub, regardless of any danger in the rear. “They’ve nailed him and he’s managed to start a blaze near their campfire, hoping we’d see it. It’s the two smokes, meaning he’s in trouble. They caught him at it and put out his smoke. But they were not quite quick enough. Now, my son, if ever you hustled and acted the part of a woodsman now is the time for you to distinguish yourself.”

“Take the lead,” grimly directed Stanley, tightening his belt to the last notch. “You’ll find me at your heels. We’ll rescue Abner, or give ourselves up as prisoners.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

HOW ABNER FARED

On leaving the two boys Abner had no definite purpose of making any extensive investigation of the enemies’ stronghold. Disgusted with his failure, gloomy because of the rain and hungry for some of Noisy Charlie’s cooking he felt much out of sorts and plunged into the wet woods to relieve his feelings.

But as he proceeded and drew nearer the strange camp his old curiosity as a cruiser returned and he speedily forgot his damp clothing and wet feet. At times he believed he could smell the acrid reek of the burning wood, and, halting, would sniff the air keenly.

Possibly he had covered two-thirds of the distance when with his mind on the camp and believing the strangers would not be abroad in the storm he stepped boldly into a small glade and found himself staring into the surprised eyes of Big Nick, only eight or ten rods away. If the half-breed recovered his presence of mind in a second he was a shade behind Abner, who with one spring vanished into the woods. The ​half-breed knew he now had a foeman worthy of his cunning and would have hesitated to stalk his aged foe if not for the knowledge that the cruiser had no rifle. And following Abner’s example he gained the cover of the forest noiselessly.

Then commenced a strange game of hide and seek. Abner would not retreat in any straight line, as he knew he must keep from the other’s keen view. If exposed for only the fraction of a second he realized the half-breed would shoot, and shoot straight. Thus for nearly an hour he passed like a shadow from tree to tree, never seeing his pursuer and remaining unseen in turn. Yet each sensed the other’s presence and realized that at times they were near neighbors. The dripping of the rain, the croak of a frog in some nearby pool, the occasional note of some songster in the open, as the sun threatened to return and flood the wood and heights with warmth, were the only sounds to be heard in the narrow compass of their dodgings and twistings.

The one idea in Abner’s mind was to remain concealed till night should blanket his movements; then he must silently make his camp and warn the youths. On the other hand he was continually tormented by a fear that one of the ​boys would set out after him, or by some lack of caution advertise their presence. In that event he must adopt a different programme and lead his foe away towards the river. Had he known, as he glided from bush to trunk, from rock to clump of cedar, that already Bub was a prisoner and that Stanley was about to fall into the same clutches it is probable that he could have escaped the half-breed.

But his camp was the magnet that held him hiding about one small circle, ever hoping for an opportunity to fly off at a tangent and rescue his young friends from possible capture. This mode of procedure puzzled the half-breed. It resulted in his overestimating the prowess of his opponent. He feared that Abner might be armed with a revolver, or be planning some coup by which he would win the victory. Because of this error the half-breed did not press matters as he otherwise might have done. Had be known that his white friends had captured Stanley and Bub he would have understood the cruiser’s maneuvers and would have governed himself accordingly.

Thus the two passed back and forth, now seeming to lose an advantage, now believing one was gained. At last the shadows thickened and drawing a deep breath Abner dropped to ​the ground and with incredible quickness and quietness wormed his way some distance towards his camp. Then half rising he took advantage of a dense growth, skirting it so as to place a barrier between him and Big Nick. It was some minutes before the half-breed realized the cruiser had changed his tactics and was trying to break away. Even then he hesitated to follow, fearing some subterfuge of the white man.

By the time he had circled the woods and had decided upon the general direction taken by Abner the latter was speeding like the wind for camp. As he neared it, he slowed his pace from habitual caution and for several seconds studied the back trail. Even if the half-breed should appear now he believed he could decoy him away from the camp, providing the youths in no way revealed their presence. But the half-breed was some distance back in the forest and finally Abner stole ahead.

As he reached the beginning of the clearing where the camp was pitched he thought he heard voices. Suspicious of all he did not quickly understand, he resumed his former secrecy of movements and stole forward as stealthily as if reconnoitering the camp on the river.

​He groaned half aloud as his quick eyes caught the form of Bub tied to the tree and then beheld Stanley also a prisoner. Could he have exchanged places with his companions he would have done so gladly, let the price be what it might. As it was he was unarmed, with a deadly enemy dogging his tracks. Although he could not effect the youths’ release he believed the half-breed as yet knew nothing of their capture. This being so it was still possible for him to lead Big Nick far down the river. He did not believe the white men would seriously injure the boys, and once he had succeeded in decoying the half-breed down stream he might find a way to double back and effect their release.

Nor did he forget to figure as a possible asset—even as Bub and Stanley had shrewdly anticipated—a meeting with Noisy Charlie.

“I ain’t even got a jack-knife,” he groaned as he found he had left that important article beside the slab of bacon in camp.

Then fearful of Nick’s arriving and discovering his friends and the two prisoners Abner shook a withered fist at the trio of scoundrels and darted back to meet and divert the half-breed. Impelled by a fear that he had been instrumental in bringing the half-breed and the ​youths face to face he spurned all caution for the first half of a mile and dashed along recklessly. At last he paused and wiped his flushed face and began to hope that perhaps he was in time after all.

Ahead some old growth pine towered more than a hundred and fifty feet towards the heavens. It was a wonderful spectacle even for such an experienced woodsman as Abner and at another time he would have stared long and longingly. Just now he could think only of the youths’ danger and the ancient pines interested him in but one particular. They afforded a long range of vision. One could look down their majestic aisles for a great distance with the gaze unobstructed by any undergrowth. It was as if he were in an immense cathedral.

As he searched his imposing surroundings his pulse beat a trifle quicker. It seemed as if he had caught a glimpse of a shadow flitting from trunk to trunk far ahead.

“If that’s Nick I guess I’ll stick pretty close to this five-foot trunk,” he murmured. “After he’s passed I’ll let him know I’m here. But, by jing! this is a bad place to dodge a man armed with a rifle.” And he surveyed the wide open places, the smooth carpet of pine needles, in dismay.

​However, Abner Whitten was not one to count the costs when aiding a friend and he drew himself up against the trunk and became motionless. Almost before he could sense it Big Nick passed him, seeming to move on wings, so noiseless were his moccasined feet. With equal stealth Abner revolved around the tree, keeping the trunk between him and his pursuer. It would not do to give a tell-tale sign of his presence just yet; again, he was in an agony of fear that the half-breed would detect the camp if allowed to advance much farther.

“Wal, if it’s got to be done, here gees.” With this desperate exclamation he quickly darted along his avenue of retreat some distance before allowing a dry branch to crackle under his foot.

As if worked by mechanism the half-breed wheeled and raised his rifle. There was nothing to be seen. Vanishing behind a tree trunk he crept tiger like towards the unexplained sound. As he did so his bead-like eyes caught a fleeting glimpse of a human form flashing from view. Uttering a guttural note of triumph he cocked his rifle and sped towards the point where his proposed victim had disappeared. His next note was one of rage, for as he believed he had the veteran cruiser at his ​mercy and was gloating as he pictured him crouching helpless behind the tree just in front, another stick snapped off to the left and again he was afforded a glimpse of a disappearing form.

He knew it was Abner. No one else in that neighborhood could so escape him, and baring his strong teeth in a snarl he set himself to work to run down this will-o’-the-wisp. He began by running with the speed of a deer towards the point where he last saw his prey. He now was convinced that the cruiser was unarmed. Believing this he devoted all his energies to overtaking the fugitive.

But Abner seemed as evasive as a whip-po’-will. He could be seen just for a second and occasionally heard, but there was no drawing near enough to shoot him. The half-breed had the advantage in years and strength and could make three feet to Abner’s one, but the veteran had the advantage of being in the lead. He was called upon to waste no time in deciding what course he should take; to the contrary the half-breed was often puzzled which way to turn. He usually discovered the right direction by a timely view of Abner’s back. But so soon as he arrived at that point he would sight his quarry far off to one side. Once he cunningly ​endeavored to anticipate such zigzag maneuvers by running parallel to the line he believed Abner would follow. But this time Abner, as if possessing the power to read his pursuer’s mind, held on straight ahead and gained a great distance.

The half-breed was convulsed with rage as scheme after scheme proved of no avail. To do his best he could only catch an occasional glimpse of the fleeing man, and never one sufficient to warrant a shot. Sometimes he suspected Abner was playing with him, and the thought was maddening. A dozen times he halted and raised his rifle, intending to shoot the moment the cruiser should show an inch of his person. In each instance Abner flashed into view in an unexpected quarter and was gone before the trigger could be pulled.

These repeated failures washed everything from the half-breed’s mind except his desire to kill the cruiser. He even forgot his grudge against the youths in his passion to prove he was a better woodsman than this stoop-shouldered man, so nimbly evading him at every turn.

The old-growth now gave way to a tangle of smaller evergreens and Big Nick cursed fluently under his breath as he realized he had lost a ​golden opportunity. His only hope now lay in running the old man down. If he could tire him out he would have him at his mercy. He redoubled his efforts as he noted Abner’s course was ever towards Briar stream. This led him to deduce that Abner was making for a canoe and had hopes of escaping him by water. It might also mean that in the canoe was a rifle; for it must be remembered Big Nick as yet knew nothing of the boys or their camp.

This last theory seemed very plausible to him and he made directly for the stream, intending to follow down its bank and intercept Abner, or overtake him before he could arm himself.

But from that moment Abner, for the night at least, was lost to him. Had he known that the veteran was exhausted from his fearful exertions and need of food he would have rested easier. Not knowing this he prowled along the river, made detours through the silent woods, and in every way sought to locate his victim.

It was just as he was giving up his search and was about to retreat to the camp up stream, his heart filled with bitter rage, that Big Nick again sighted his prey. Abner, lame and sore from his night in the woods, was painfully limping, not down stream, but back ​towards Flat-top. Apparently he believed he had fooled his pursuer and was now beating back to aid his friends.

With a hoarse cry of joy Nick renewed his pursuit. Again some mysterious power told Abner he was being chased, and fighting off his stiffness he renewed his tactics of yesterday. But the half-breed rejoiced as he observed the veteran was not moving with his usual sprightliness. More than once the rifle was sighted, only to be lowered with a cruel smile as Nick decided he had the game in his own hands and preferred to play with his man as a cat torments a mouse.

When Abner realized this fact, his mouth set in stern lines. He was exhausted and must be captured, he told himself. It simply remained to see how far he could lead the dark-faced foe from the neighborhood of the camp.

“I’d give anything if only Charlie could pop out and take charge of this affair,” he groaned as his foot twisted and a sharp pain shot up his leg.

It was at this juncture that by a desperate effort he appeared imbued with the strength and elasticity of youth, and heedless of his aching ankle led the half-breed a furious chase for nearly a fourth of a mile. Enraged, and ​believing that he had been tricked by a cunning counterfeit of exhaustion, he raised his gun and fired, just as Abner gave up the fight and fell face downward. It was then that the long-drawn-out cry was sounded and was heard by the men about to sit down to their breakfast.

Several repetitions of the cry at last brought Pete, Ben and Joe to the spot and they swore roundly that Big Nick was the greatest man-tracker in the woods.

“And to think we’ve got ’em all. Hey, old hound?” and Pete struck his hat into Abner’s face.

“I’ll see ye behind an iron grating fer that, my lad,” informed Abner in a low voice.

“Ye will, eh?” grinned Pete. “Wal, ye’ll have an eyesight that will look from a grave up here way down to the city then.”

Big Nick was standing like a piece of stone, his nostrils dilated. “You say all?” he asked, his deep voice trembling in its eagerness.

“Sure. We’ve got the kids trussed up at the southeast end of Flat-Top. Found ’em in camp there.”

Big Nick turned to Abner, his eyes glittering evilly. “You dog me away so I no find um. I pay you for that.”

​“Ye’ll do mighty well to pay fer yer own debts, ye black-hearted skunk!” shouted Abner. “Of course I dogged ye from them. Hi, ye fellers. D’ye know I’ve had this poor fool on the string all yesterday afternoon and all night. If I hadn’t hurt my ankle I’d be fooling him now. And me an old man with no weapon. That’s the kind of a cur he is. He couldn’t even catch me. Bah! ye a woodsman? Why, ye tanned thief, ye couldn’t find Rangeley plantation ’less ye was led to it.”

The men laughed at Abner’s ridicule, but the half-breed bit his lips till they bled. Then he smiled fiendishly and said, “I bring boys here. I make you say good things about Big Nick. I make you say anything I ask.”

“Say, if that ain’t the Injun of it,” admired Pete. “He’s going to torture the kids till the old feller prays to him.”

“I won’t stand for that,” muttered Ben. “Nothing like that. We’re in bad enough without any extries. Fer my part I don’t care to have them younkers brought here. I left them alive and well, and well supplied with provisions. Guess we’ll call it quits as far as we’re concerned.”

“Ye miserable hounds! ye’re going to send that black devil back there to murder ’em!” ​shrieked Abner as he caught the significance of Ben’s declaration.

“Easy, easy, Mister Man,” grinned Pete. “We ain’t hired to protect strangers in these woods. We left the young men in good condition. We’re not to blame if a half-breed uses ’em up.”

“Ye’ll git a life sentence fer it, mark me that. And if the men at the mills git at ye first ye’ll swing, even if they don’t hang fer murder in Maine.”

“Is that so?” laughed Joe. “And who's going to tell on us?”

“I be,” roared Abner.

“Tie his arms and drag him along,” directed Pete. “We’ll camp over on the ridge. Joe, explain to Nick what he can and what he can’t do. No bringing the kids to us, ye know.”

With head bowed Abner stumbled along with his captors. He had no doubt but what to save themselves from a state-prison term they would kill him. He would have been glad to promise to drop the whole matter if they would only release the boys. He would have kept the promise, but he knew it was idle to make it, as they would never believe him. To them there was but one way out; the cruisers must never ​leave the woods, and what the outside world never knew, never happened.

He sounded them, asking why they “tied up” with a half-breed when he could give them well paid employment with his company.

“We’ve got a good boss,” grinned Joe.

“Shut up on that. We have no boss,” warned Ben.

“Ye needn’t try to cover up. Jim Nace is yer boss, but even he, as bad as he is, never meant ye should do murder,” cried Abner.

“Will ye keep yer mouth shet, or shall we do fer ye right here?” hissed Ben.

“And to think ye are fools enough to trust the half-breed, while he’ll throw ye over in a second,” sneered Abner.

“He might if he got mad with us and had a chance to blab,” agreed Pete.

“Meaning ye’ll put him out of the way if necessary?” queried Abner.

“I don’t think he’d be missed very much,” laughed Joe.

Abner said no more. The men talked openly before him, as if realizing what they said would never be carried further. After camp was pitched the veteran fell into a doze and did not wake till late in the afternoon. In the meanwhile one of the men had repaired to the camp ​on the river and had brought back some supplies. None had suggested going to the boys’ camp, nor did any of them appear willing to discuss the youths. Food was offered to Abner but he paid no heed. If his companions had been done away with he had no desire to live. And his head fell on his breast and his eyes remained half closed.

In the middle of the afternoon he heard a shout and looked up and beheld Big Nick. His hair bristled as he believed he was gazing on a double murderer. And he scarcely could believe his ears when Nick hissed, “Boys git away. No catch um.”

“What!” screamed Abner staggering to his feet, for only his arms were tied. “What! the younkers escape? Hooray! Glory! Kill me, do anything to me, ye pack of thieves and murderers—but my boys has escaped! Whoop!”

“Silence!” growled Pete, advancing on him with a knife, while Ben asked:

“And ye mean ye couldn’t run them down?”

“No catch um,” muttered Big Nick. “Little weasel sly like old fox here.” And he glared at Abner.

The three men eyed each other in consternation. If the boys remained at liberty it would ​be unsafe to deal harshly with Abner. If even one escaped the bloodshed would have been in vain.

“Wonder if that Injun is trying to throw us?” whispered Joe.

“How fer did ye chase them, Nick?” inquired Pete.

“All over. All day. No find. Come here to git help. Catch um easy when all help.”

“Did they come this way?” eagerly inquired Ben.

Nick nodded. “Come this way. Hide over there,” and he pointed to the east. “Need men beat up woods and scare um out. I watch on edge and catch um.”

Abner’s heart trembled within him. If the boys blundered on to the camp all was lost. If he could but warn them he was a captive he believed Bub would go down stream and meet Noisy Charlie. And his eyes roved desperately about the camp.

Regardless of betraying their presence Ben had heaped on some pine which was now sending up a tall column of yellowish smoke. Abner’s eyes brightened. If Bub only remembered to climb trees he would see the smoke and should know it was made by the enemy.

“But if there was two smokes he’d know I ​was a prisoner; fer he’d have brains enough to know I never git lost and that it must mean trouble. And he’d also figger out that I’d never call on him fer help, and consequently he must argify that I want him and Reddy to steer clear of this neighborhood. Now lem’me figger a bit.”

His idea of figuring was to carelessly brush some pine kindlings and bits of green boughs into a heap with one foot while the men were earnestly laying their plans for re-capturing the two youths. After he had accumulated what he believed to be a sufficient pile he drew near the fire and idly rearranged the brands with a foot. Then in turning away he kicked a burning brand smartly towards his individual pile. None of the four noticed him, and with no show of haste he carefully forced the brand beneath the mass and rejoiced to see how it caught hold.

But his task was not yet finished. The fire must be allowed to burn awhile. Quickly skirting the group he forced his way between Ben and Joe and gesticulating with his head so as to hold the attention of all he commenced a violent harangue, taking care to use no abuse that would incite them to stop him.

Wildly and vaguely he talked on, Big Nick as ​well as the others staring at him in open-mouthed amazement. “And I tell ye, and I believe it, that there are diamonds there. Now listen,” and he leaned forward to invite secrecy and mechanically the four gathered close, for his mention of precious stones held their attention. “I know there is gold there. I’ve seen it. Great big flakes and nuggets.” His voice now sank to a whisper, but as he caught the increased crackle of his signal pile he elevated his tones again, loudly crying, “And that gold is enough to make ye all rich.”

“What’s the matter with him? Is he crazy?” gasped Pete.

“No I’m not crazy. I’m talking of gold, car-loads of it. And hatfuls of diamonds,” shrieked Abner, seeking to destroy the warning noise of the second fire.

“Out up here,” gravely announced Nick, tapping his forehead.

“I’m not out up there,” denied Abner in a passionate voice. “I tell ye I know where Jim Nace makes counterfeit dollars. I know where he has a place not more’n ten miles from here where he keeps his silver and gold hid. And with it he makes his money. There! that’s news fer ye, eh?”

He was compelled to pause for want of breath, ​and Nick’s quick ear caught the sound of an unusual crackling. He turned and beheld the fire and with a growl sprang to it and kicked it to pieces.

“The old hound did it to signal the kids!” howled Pete, striking Abner to the ground with one blow of his brawny fist.

It was at this moment that Stanley saw the second smoke fade away from his perch in the tree top.

CHAPTER TWENTY

THE END OF THE CHASE

The sun was about an hour high when the two youths halted within a few hundred feet of the enemies’ camp. Great caution was now necessary and Bub dropped on his hands and knees and motioned for Stanley to follow his example. Owing to the intervening blackgrowth the conversation of the four men was audible several minutes before they were seen.

Abner had crawled to his feet, and as his young friends silently wriggled their way through the last barrier and were afforded a view of the scene his captors were busily tying him to a tree and showering him with curses.

But Abner’s spirit was indomitable, and as if to give the boys warning, should they be within the reach of his voice, he loudly called, “Ye won’t git them younkers. They’ve seen my smoke and will know enough to keep away. Put that in yer pipe and smoke it.”

“Ye will have it now, will ye?” raged Pete, raising a hatchet.

“Take it easy,” restrained Ben, catching the ​uplifted arm. “He can wait till we’ve undone his mischief. He’s safe; let’s strike out fer the brats.”

“Good,” endorsed Nick. “Leave old man here. Git boys. I catch um. One help me.”

“Guess ye’d better go with him, Pete,” advised Joe. “Ye seem to need coolin’ off a bit. Ben and me will stay here and watch this feller.”

Pete grumbled and hesitated, evidently inclined to remain in camp, but as the half-breed became impatient he picked up a rifle and fell in behind him, saying, “We’d better separate and beat the woods in a straight line east. They won’t go up stream, and they won’t come here if they’ve got brains enough to read that old hound’s signal. If they do come here Ben and Joe ’ll git ’em.”

Nick grunted an approval, and deploying entered the woods a rod or two beyond the two young spies. Pete passed within a few feet of him and both the youths were grateful that he and not his companion had taken this line.

Bub nudged Stanley exultingly. “That leaves only two,” he ventured to whisper. “I’d rather all three were left than to try to outwit Nick alone.”

​“How far will they go?” nervously asked Stanley.

Bub’s face fell. “That’s so. Night is coming on and Pete won’t wander around in the dark. He’s no woodsman; that is, nothing like Abner.”

“I was thinking they might find some trace of us and suspect we were near the camp,” explained Stanley.

“That’s possible—almost probable,” groaned Bub. “Well, my son, it means that if we’re going to do anything for the Whitten family we’ve got to do it pretty quick.”

But think as they could they could decide upon no plan that would warrant success. They were two boys against two men. They were unarmed, except as they had clubs. Each of the men was caressing a rifle and listening intently for some note of victory from the heart of the woods.

“If they were near cover we’d creep around and crawl up behind them and risk taking them by surprise with the clubs,” muttered Bub, his face white and desperate.

This move could hardly be considered, however, as Ben and Joe were some distance from the tangled growth and on their guard. ​Abner, lashed to a small maple, rested his chin on his breast, apparently overcome.

“Wonder if they’ll catch ’em,” growled Ben, shifting his rifle.

“Guess so,” returned Joe, shortly, evidently not in the mood for conversation. Then he added after a brief silence, “I never fancied this job.”

“Chicken-hearted, eh?” grinned Ben.

“No, I ain’t chicken-hearted,” retorted Joe angrily. “But when I work fer a man I like to feel he’ll back me up in anything I do. We both know that the boss would turn us down in a second if it suited his plans.”

“He pays well,” reminded Ben calmly.

“I don’t know about that,” demurred Joe. “If it means state-prison if we’re caught I don’t call any amount of money good pay.”

“But we ain’t caught yet.”

“That’s just it,” exploded Joe. “We take all the chances and if we win out we’re paid, the boss asking no questions. But if we’re caught he’d go back on us in a minute and swear he knew nothing about us. That’s what sores me. Besides, the Great Northern ain’t the kind of a machine I like to fool with. Take a small operator, like Blusby, when we got his—”

​“Shut up!” hissed Ben. “Want to tell everything ye know?”

“But who’s to give it away if ye’re so sure we won’t be caught?” cunningly countered Joe.

“That ain’t the idee. Once a thing is done, let it remain buried. I never rake old coals onto the fire,” replied Ben.

“Say, ye two varmints. Going to kill me on a empty stomach?” cried Abner, raising his head. “Don’t ye realize I ain’t had anything to eat fer several weeks? If ye keep on this way I shall die nat’ral-like and ye’ll miss all yer fun.”

“Ye’ll live long enough to suit us,” grimly assured Joe, scowling maliciously at the veteran.

“Ye might bribe us with some of them pearls and gold ye was telling us about,” taunted Ben.

“Both on ye will look mighty smart in stripes,” mused Abner.

Before either could answer this with blow or curse a rifle echoed far off in the woods, and even as the men straightened and stared in the direction of the sinister sound there came another report.

“That settles ’em,” muttered Ben, rising to his feet, his hands trembling as he toyed with the rifle.

​Joe’s face blanched as he believed the tragedy had been consummated, and his voice was unsteady as he added, “There’s no drawing back now. Anyway, we ain’t in that.”

Abner’s eyes were two glistening points as he hoarser cried out, “Ye’ll answer fer it just as if ye fired the cursed bullet.” Then bowing his head he sobbed convulsively.

The two paid no heed to his words, for already an awful fear was stealing over them. Each wished he had never encountered the situation and neither dared look at the other at first. Then the desire to escape returned and they gazed at Abner wolfishly. As Joe had said, there was no drawing back for them and their liberty depended upon no witnesses reaching the settlements.

The youths stared at each other in wonder and amazement as their quick ears caught the two reports.

“They must be shooting at shadows,” whispered Bub.

“I don’t understand it,” puzzled Stanley. “But we must make some kind of a move.”

Bub started convulsively. Then warned, “Don’t budge if a wasp gets at you. One just stung me on the hand. We must have picked a place right under their nest.”

​“One stung me,” gritted Stanley. “We can’t remain here and be stung to death without making a noise. Let’s crawl back.”

“Wait,” murmured Bub. “I see the nest. Keep quiet and we won’t be troubled. See that gray bunch in the tree about the size of a hat. That’s it.”

He was pointing to the tree in the middle of the opening, under which Ben and Joe were standing. Even as he indicated the dark grey bunch the men sank to the ground again.

Stanley thrilled in every nerve and his voice was hard to control as he suggested, “If only we could get those fellows after the scoundrels we might have a chance to slip in and free Abner.”

“Great!” chattered Bub. “But how to do it?”

“Find a small rock and smash the nest,” hoarsely advised Stanley.

Without a word Bub silently worked his way backwards and was gone nearly a minute before he returned, holding several fragments of stone in his hands. “Retreat a few feet,” he murmured, “and we’ll have a chance to stand up for the throw.”

In a few seconds Stanley had rejoined him in ​a little bower, opening on the camp at one side. The nest was plainly visible.

“It all depends on the one throw,” warned Stanley. “If you miss the men will be on their guard. The first shot must hit and bring out a swarm of wasps before the brutes know what is up. The second that happens one of us must be ready to dash forward and cut the ropes.”

“I can’t do it,” groaned Bub. “I’d miss. My hand is shaking so I can hardly hold the rock.”

“You must,” commanded Stanley. “Brace up. I’ll steal around and be ready to make the dash. Lucky I’ve my knife.”

“No, Stan; it won’t do,” whispered Bub. “You must do the shooting and leave the rescue to me. I can do that better than you; but I can’t hit the nest. Take the stones.”

“Very well,” quickly agreed Stanley. “I’ll play the nest is second base and I’m nailing a man trying to steal from first. How long will it take you to get around behind Abner?”

“When you hear a squirrel chattering let her go,” warned Bub. And he vanished noiselessly.

It seemed an interminable time to Stanley waiting. Once left alone he found his hand following Bub’s example and shaking violently.

​“It won’t do,” he growled, clinching his fist. “Come, my boy; brace up. The man on first is about to steal. It’s the best game I ever caught. Leighton knows I’ll place the ball in his hands at second. The crowd is cheering. I can hear Dumpy Scott coaching the runner, but it won’t mix me up any. Now, we’re steady, now we’re—”

The scolding chatter of a squirrel reached his ear, and with a masterful effort at control he threw back his arm and threw the stone.

The dull, crunching sound above their heads caused Ben and Joe to look up. Before they could appreciate their danger a swarm of infuriated wasps was upon them, stinging them viciously in the face and on the hands.

With a double scream of rage and pain the two clawed frantically at their heads and then holding their arms to protect the eyes dashed into the cover of the woods. By this time Abner, with eyes tightly closed was spluttering and crying aloud as some of the wasps shifted to him, and he did not notice the bowed figure at his side.

Suddenly he felt his bonds relax and forgetting his tormentors he stared dumbfounded at the wide-eyed Bub.

“Come, Abner. Follow me,” urged the ​youth, taking the old man’s hand and dragging him towards Stanley’s position.

“Land of sin!” exclaimed Abner in a dreamy voice. “Not ghosts! Here, and alive! Is it real, or be I crazy?”

“These wasps are very real,” panted Bub, forcing the old man to hasten his steps.

“But—but,” spluttered Abner, not sensing the ruse. “I don’t understand. I heard guns. Ye’re here. Why, Reddy! Be ye real?”

Stanley clapped his shoulder warmly. “Wake up,” he tersely commanded. “We have about a minute leeway. We’ve all escaped. It’s all real.”

“Glory be!” sobbed Abner, throwing an arm over each of their necks. “My boys! My boys! To think the younkers didn’t fergit the old man! To think ye pulled it off! I could larrup ye fer coming when I made the signal that I was in trouble and meant fer ye to keep away.”

“Compose yourself, Mr. Whitten,” begged Stanley. “We’re not free yet. They’ll be on our track very shortly. We are depending upon your skill to save us.”

This aroused Abner with a jerk, although he mumbled, “I’m ’bout starved. I ain’t seen ​food fer so long I don’t know how it looks. My strength is most gone.”

“We don’t need strength,” reminded Bub. “We need your knowledge of the woods. If they’d only dropped a gun when they ran away we’d stick right here.”

“Wal, ye’ve saved old Abner,” sniveled the veteran, “and I guess it’s up to him to return the compliment. Lem’me take the lead.”

Although weak from exhaustion and his long fast Abner got his second wind and in a few moments was picking a course to the southeast with all the caution and skill he had command of.

“Did you hear the guns?” whispered Bub, over Stanley’s shoulder.

“I did,” replied Abner. “I don’t understand it. It mixes me up. If I knew what Nick and that other fiend was shooting at I’d be a great deal easier in my mind. But I can’t figger it out. They must have seen the wind moving a bush and let go at it. That is, Pete prob’ly did. Nick wouldn’t make that mistake.”

“Where to now?” inquired Stanley.

“In a straight line till it’s safe to hit Briar stream. Then we follow that back to Carlton’s.”

​“And give up the Flat-Top search?” sighed Stanley.

A suppressed chuckle behind him evidenced that Bub was keenly enjoying the approaching climax.

“I wouldn’t go back there ag’in fer all the spruce in New England,” Abner shot back over his bowed shoulder. “Besides,” and his tone was even more gloomy now, “I’m through with the Great Northern. I’ll git a new job soon’s I can hitch on to the warden’s telephone.”

“But I believe that we can prove the company’s line,” persisted Stanley.

“Reddy, say anything ye want to; ye’ve saved me twice. But if that there Bub makes a crack like that I’ll larrup him the minute I come to a good oak limb. He’s saved me only once. I’ll take it from ye, Reddy, but not from a distant relation. Now, let’s drop the subject.”

“But I enjoy talking about it,” remonstrated Stanley. “Think how proud we’d feel if we could go back successful.”

“Keep it up,” groaned Abner. “The wasps was pleasant little fellers alongside of such talk; but go ahead. Have yer say out.”

“Anyway, it’s worth something to say, ‘I’m ​working for the Great Northern because I never failed’,” continued Stanley.

“Say,” mumbled Abner, pausing, “if ye two keep on a bee-line I guess ye’ll fetch out all right. I’m going back to Ben and Joe. It’s not so unpleasant back there after all.”

Regardless of the danger Bub gave a shriek of laughter and leaned weakly against a tree.

“Be ye mad?” cried Abner in a smothered voice. “What ye laffing at, ye young varmint? Want to git caught ag’in? Think I can spend all summer up here a gitting of ye loose?”

“Oh, Abner! Abner,” exploded Bub. “Tell him, Stan. Tell him, before I drop.”

“Mr. Whitten, I’ve found the ancient record,” quietly informed Stanley.

“Found what?” asked Abner in a dazed voice.

“The original record. It was on the big beech we passed so many times. The bark had grown over it so it would never be noticed. I found it by accident, of course. I was idly tapping the tree and noticed the wood sounded dull and dead in one spot. When I cut away the bark there was the record. The two circles linked, cut by an arrow, showing the course, and beneath were the initials of the original owner.”

​For a count of ten Abner remained rigid, then he hoarser begged, “Tell me ye ain’t fooling. Tell me it’s true; just as true as the wasps was. Ye ain’t playing it low down on the old man, be ye, Reddy?”

“It’s gospel truth,” assured Stanley.

“Lawd! ain’t I thankful,” fervently cried the veteran, looking up at the dying sky, his eyes glowing with ecstasy.

But this mood was quickly replaced by one of the keenest apprehension, and he lamented, “If I could only have been there! Not to take the credit, but to advise ye what to do after ye’d made the bullseye. If only I could have stood at yer elbow and advised, ‘Place that there bark’—”

“In a hollow log,” mischievously broke in Bub.

“No!” rumbled Abner, tossing his arms about wildly. “But back on the tree, Where no one would notice it.”

“That’s what I did,” modestly informed Stanley, not wishing to tease the veteran longer.

“Boy! Reddy!” muttered Abner, catching him by both shoulders and glaring into his eyes. “Did ye really have brains enough to do that?”

​“I don’t believe even you would notice it in passing,” said Stanley, reddening violently under the compliment of the veteran’s clutch. “The trailer of lichen I passed across the trunk conceals my work entirely.”

“After this,” mumbled Abner in a low voice, “I’ll tell folks that Reddy—I mean Mister Stanley Malcolm—took me kindly in charge on my last cruise. If anyone asks if ye’re working fer me I’ll say, ‘Hardly, my friend. I am lucky to have a chance to work fer him.’”

“Nonsense, Mr. Whitten,” gladly laughed Stanley. “I am awfully pleased over it because I knew it would please you. But all the credit is due to you. You allowed me to come, you have kindly allowed me to bother you. By a pure accident I find the record.”

“But where are we going?” remonstrated Bub, as Abner abruptly resumed his course.

“Going?” he sniffed. “Where d’ye s’pose we was going? We’re going after that there strip of bark.”

“But the Nace outfit?” cried Bub.

“Bah! I ain’t afraid of ’em now. We’ve won out and my fighting blood is up. We’re going back to Flat-Top. Then we’ll make the mills. After that I’ll take a little vacation with Noisy Charlie and polish them gentlemen off a ​bit. But there ain’t no need of being careless, just because we feel tickled.”

“I fear we have been too careless already,” warned Stanley. “I am sure I heard someone breaking through the growth behind us.”

“It’s Ben and Joe,” angrily informed Abner. “They move like cart horses. Easy enough to keep out of their reach, but a bullet travels dinged fast. Hump yerselves.”

“He’s straight ahead!” called out a rough voice not far behind.

“I’m closing in on him,” informed at second.

“Be ye?” gritted Abner, increasing his gait. “By jing!” The last was exclaimed as he found himself on the edge of an opening. At either side the woods ended in a dead line. To advance would allow their pursuers an easy mark, unless the clearing could be crossed before the enemy reached it.

“Come on. Run as ye never did,” whispered Abner, pulling his hat well forward and scuttling towards the line of growth in front. The youths could easily have outstripped him, but they purposely accommodated their pace to his. Just as they were within a few rods of the growth Ben broke through the cover behind and excitedly yelled, “Hi, Joe! This way. We’ve got them! Why! There are three!”

​His amazement at finding three instead of one victim, led him to hesitate a second before firing. In that brief interval Abner sharply warned, “Drop!”

The trio went down as one and Ben’s bullet whistled over Bub’s prostrate body. The second villain by this time gained his comrade’s side and took in the situation at a glance.

“Take yer time,” he advised, cocking his rifle. “They can’t make the woods. But I don’t understand about them younkers. Now, ready!”

But the report that followed his words spouted from the forest ahead of the cruisers and was quickly followed by another. As Abner looked back he could not see either of his pursuers, although groans and the sound of heavy bodies threshing about on the ground were audible.

Then a tall figure stalked out from cover and advanced towards them.

“Noisy Charlie!” fairly screamed Stanley and Bub in unison.

“Howdy,” saluted the Indian. With this greeting he continued on to the other side of the opening, where Ben and Joe were prostrate.

Abner and the youths followed him. The two villains were groaning fearfully, Ben with ​a hole through his right lung and Joe shot through the hip.

“Are they dying?” whispered Stanley in an awed voice.

“No die,” grunted the Indian, beginning to bind up the wounds and checking the flow of blood. Then he apologized, “Poor light. Bush in way. Fired quick; no good aim.”

“What’ll we do with them?” blankly inquired Abner, his mind centered on the Flat-Top ridge expedition.

“Lumber men near. I bring um,” replied Charlie. “They take men back to mills. Git white medicine. Then go to jail. Leave um here and I send men.”

“I told him to fetch up some of the Frenchmen to the old burn, where someone, prob’ly Nace, cut over the public lot. I thought mebbe some of our Frenchmen worked for Nace up there and could be used as witnesses against him,” explained Abner, as he and the boys limped on after the Indian.

“Here! See something,” suddenly said Charlie, turning to the right. Two rigid forms were stretched out on the ground, a blanket thrown over each.

“Big Nick. White man Pete,” informed Charlie.

​“Did you kill them?” gasped Bub, beginning to feel a trifle faint.

“No luck,” grumbled Charlie. “Kill each other. They hunt for someone; you, mebbe. They separate. White man see me, but I hide before he fire. Then Nick come through and White man think Nick me and fire. Nick dying git mad and fire back. Both dead. Good shooting.”

“Charlie, I want to shake hands,” humbly announced Stanley as they pursued their way to a point where strains of a logging song were emanating.

“Good boy,” said Charlie, clasping his hand quickly. “No ’fraid of fox, eh?” And his eyes shone With merriment for a moment.

Then he turned to Bub and slapped his shoulder. “This young fox. Grow to old fox. Smart boy.” The three understood by this that Charlie was paying Bub an elaborate compliment; he meant he would some time be as good a woodsman as Abner. The veteran, too, felt not a little pleased to be pointed out as an example.

Just as the sun sank and left the woods in darkness several campfires twinkled invitingly ahead, and with a loud growling noise Abner broke from the others and dashed into the ​singing circle and quickly appropriated various bits of food from each surprised logger.

“Gim’me that coffee,” he snapped, sweeping French Louey’s tin dipper from his hand. “And that doughnut,” he added, relieving another. And so on he levied tribute, until he had accumulated a large pile of edibles.

When the others came up French Louey made believe he was afraid of Stanley, whereat the latter laughed joyously and fairly hugged the rough fellow.

“No word for me, eh?” drawled a man on the edge of the circle.

“Why, Mr. White!” cried Stanley, grasping both of the calloused hands. “I’m awfully glad to see you.”

After the greetings were over and the famished youths had eaten their fill, White informed Abner: “It’s all clinched. Louey and three other of our men worked for Nace on the school lot. We’ve got him on the hip. He’ll have to pay the stumpage back to the town.”

“Good,” cried Abner, his eyes twinkling. “I can’t report to any one but Hatton, but I’ll say this, fellers; Mister Nace is up against a lot of trouble.”

“That’s always good news,” declared White. ​“Now let’s have that song about, ‘He was drownded on the Allagash.’”

The wearied youths crawled thankfully under warm blankets, and lulled to sleep by the swinging chorus, began to recuperate from their strenuous exertions.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

PRESIDENT THAXTER ARRIVES

Hatton sat at his desk, cold of eye and calm in bearing. Opposite him sat Nace, a man with small, dull eyes and heavy jowls. Each was waiting for the other to continue the conversation. Finally Hatton pushed back his chair and observed:

“I am sorry you cannot wait till Mr. Thaxter arrives. I have no powers to complete the transaction without his consent.”

“That’s the trouble with working for a man who’s president of a dozen different concerns,” smiled Nace. “I’ve always worked for Number One.”

“I can easily believe you have been very successful in looking out for Number One,” sneered Hatton.

“What of it?” asked Nace sharply, his eyes glinting. “The Great Northern never got ahead of me much, eh?”

Hatton yawned carelessly, and replied, “Up to now there has never been any difference between us, Mr. Nace.”

​“Don’t Mister me,” said Nace. “I’m plain Jim Nace. I’m one of the boys. I work hard and live hard and no man can put a finger on any act of mine and say it’s crooked.”

“Nonsense,” smiled Hatton. “There is no need of this play-acting.”

Nace did not seem to resent this bit of skepticism, but grinned broadly as much amused, and modified, “Well, no one can prove any act of mine is crooked.”

Hatton tapped his desk impressively. “Now, Nace, I know you are crooked. There isn’t a straight hair in your head. But let’s be frank with each other. President Thaxter will be here this afternoon. I must have your ultimatum as to the Flat-Top holdings. We know your timber ends at the line we claim. I have men in the woods now to prove it.”

“And they’ll prove nothing,” serenely assured Nace.

“Perhaps,” agreed Hatton; “they may not. And if they do not I want to know how the matter shall be compromised. How much will you take for that timber if we decide not to carry the matter into court?”

Nace rose and shook his fist angrily at the manager, and shouted, “You have got in the way of thinking I am crooked and that because ​of that belief you can always make terms with me. Now, Mister Hatton, I’ve got all the money I need, and that timber isn’t for sale.”

Hatton clicked his teeth and gently asked, “What do you intend to do then?”

“I intend to make your company back water. I propose to let every man in the state know that the Great Northern has met more than its match. You’ve got to go through with this thing now you’ve started it, and you’ll go into court and admit you’re mistaken and pay the costs. Then we’ll see what about my counter claim for damages.”

“Counter claim?” cried Hatton, shaken out of his habitual calm.

“Yes, sirree! Counter claim,” triumphantly repeated Nace. “Think you can blacken my character and put me to a big expense to hold what’s mine and then end the matter by simply refusing to sue? Hardly. I’m going to have damages, and big damages. After that point has been settled we’ll see what about selling the land. It might be possible that I would set a price on it, providing you showed the proper spirit in doing what is just and fair.”

“Just and fair,” murmured Hatton in deep disgust. “You mean you believe you have a ​gold mine in this affair and propose to make the company pay well.”

“If you’d studied the situation a thousand years you couldn’t have put it more neatly,” cried Nace. “The Great Northern is going to pay well. More’n that; it’s going to pay big."

“Then you have no word to send to our president?”

Nace hesitated, his eyes shining with a cunning light as he greed in canvassed his prospects. “Why, of course, I’m hot under the collar,” he explained, rolling his eyes virtuously. “It’s natural I should get mighty mad over the way the Great Northern has abused me. Still, I hope I am not a hard man. I want to be fair, even when I’ve been treated unfairly. I should say that if the company paid me fifty thousand dollars, for the slanders and for my actual money damages I would then be willing to give it an option on the timber. Yes, I’d do that.”

“How much would you want for the timber?” quietly asked Hatton.

Nace pursed up his lips and frowned, as if meditating heavily. “Why, not to be too hard I should say about one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

​Hatton gasped, although expecting something exorbitant. “Whew!” he whistled. “A fifth of a million, eh? Why, you know the land can’t be worth anywhere near that.”

“Remember that fifty thousand is for slander and the like,” grinned Nace.

“And if we refuse you will sue and be beaten and will end with the timber on your hands,” reminded Hatton.

“Guess I can find a purchaser all right,” grinned Nace, thoroughly enjoying the situation.

Hatton’s gaze hardened. “And where, pray?”

“I have an idea the Consolidated Pulp company wants to break into Maine. It’s got big holdings in New Hampshire.”

The name of this company was a red flag to flatten, as it was the only prospective rival the Great Northern had. But he showed no sign of his rage as he calmly remarked, “Well, there is no hurry. The suit can’t be called in court till the fall term. My cruisers will return shortly and tell me what they find. We might not want the timber anyway. I don’t even know as we could get it out from the ridge, or how much it will cut.”

Nace laughed coarsely, and jeered, “I’ll bet ​you don’t know a thing about it. By the way, who did you send up there?”

“Abner Whitten,” promptly replied Hatton.

“What! Abner still working for you? Why, one of my men met him up at Hood mountain and he said he was through and was going to get a job with the Feenys up on Chesuncook.”

“I had not heard of his quitting us,” quietly returned Hatton, but inwardly disturbed as he remembered his parting injunction to Abner, not to come back till he had succeeded. He had not meant that order, but he knew the veteran was so sensitive that he might be likely to seek employment elsewhere.

“Sorry I can’t wait for Thaxter,” said Nace, moving towards the door. “But as you say, there’s plenty of time.”

“Hold on, Nace,” said Hatton brusquely. “Let’s quit beating around the bush. Thaxter will expect to see you. You are out after the money. All this slander suit talk is rot and you know it. You want money and nothing else. Thaxter is the man to treat with. He’ll do better by you than the Consolidated people will. If you’ve got us where the wool is short you’d better make the best of it and see the president.”

​Nace was deeply impressed by this and showed it by the way his heavy face lengthened out. Then he admitted, “Of course I’m after the money. So is the Great Northern. I insist I’ve been rather cut up by the way the company has knocked me, but as you say there’s no use in my cutting off my nose to spite my face. I’ll be here at eight o’clock sharp to-morrow morning to talk with Thaxter. Maybe, we can arrive at some agreement.”

Left alone the manager’s facial expression changed. It was as if he had slipped aside a mask, revealing the true Hatton. Deep lines drew down his mouth and he bowed his head in his hands to think.

As Abner had said it was he who had taken a hostile initiative against Nace and had placed the company on record as intending to sue the scheming operator. He could see now that he had moved too fast. The papers throughout New England had played up the proposed suit for columns. Nace had raged and was reported as laying large wagers that he would retain the land till he saw fit to sell it. Public opinion had been with the company. It seemed preposterous to believe that the all-powerful ​Great Northern would take a stand without being assured of success.

Realizing all this Hatton dreaded the coming interview with Thaxter. As yet he had not revealed the true state of affairs to the president. Now it must be done and he feared for his superior’s wrath. It was not a question of money and timber lands alone, but prestige was at stake.

No word had come from Abner since the Indian guide had returned to the Kennebago wangan and had sent word that all Frenchmen, who had ever worked for Nace, should be sent over to him for a trip in the woods. He did not even know for what purpose the men were wanted, but had hoped that the veteran had some shrewd scheme under way. He had talked with Carlton over the telephone and had learned of Abner’s departure for Flat-Top. The encounter with Big Nick had not impressed him as being of any moment, nor easily charged up against Nace. It was he, himself, who had first incurred the half-breed’s hatred.

He still was confident that Nace had swindled them. But this conviction would in no way mollify the president’s displeasure, unless sustained by proofs.

​Throughout the afternoon he remained at his desk, transacting the routine of the mills with the same calm demeanor that always characterized his dealings with the foremen. But when alone his head would drop in his hands as he again tested every link in the chain that was holding him down.

“With never a failure against his record, to think Abner must fail now,” he muttered. Then in self-accusation, “But I was a fool, a fool. Why didn’t I move more cautiously? When Carlton could find nothing I should have known Whitten couldn’t, unless by some miracle. And he has failed.”

A step at the door caused him to spring up and smooth out his features. The door opened and in walked Roscoe W. Thaxter, multi-millionaire and president of the Great Northern.

“Hello, Hatton, glad to see you,” cordially greeted Thaxter, helping himself to a chair. “We must get down to business, as I have an automobile outside to take me back to my private car where I shall sleep to-night. What about this pipe line for pulp?” And the president pulled out a memorandum and studied it critically.

“Mr. Thaxter, that was an idea given me by a ​youth who is employed here. I shall always be I sorry I never thought of it myself,” replied Hatton.

“I see,” murmured the president. “It’s a good idea. A fine one. We must do something for the youth. He may grow up into a manager some day, eh?” And the president smiled good naturedly. “Make mention of him in writing to the Boston office next time. Put the line through at once. It will be a great saving. Hm! Let me see. What else was there? The ore—No, that’s copper. Ah, here it is,” and producing his spectacles the president slowly read from his small book, “In re Flat-Top ridge disputed line.”

Hatton cleared his throat and said, “I fear that Nace has the under hold in that matter. He’s crooked, but I don’t see how we can prove it.”

Pulling his spectacles to the tip of his nose the president stared at the cold-faced man in amazement for a moment, and then exploded, “What! What’s this? You mean to tell me the Great Northern can be done up by a swindler?”

Hatton could have replied that swindlers are usually the persons who “do people up,” but he coughed gently and replied, “There seems to ​be no way by which we can prove the swindle.”

“But a swindle is a swindle. It’s a self-evident fact. If he’s swindling us why can’t we prove it?”

“I’ve sent men up there repeatedly, the best men in the state. My best cruiser is out on that work now,” explained Hatton. “But while I may believe we are being swindled, if we can’t prove it, what are we to do?”

“I should say that the Great Northern needed a new president, and a new manager in this region,” sternly replied Thaxter. “Why, sir! you calmly tell me we are being swindled. I look at my memorandum book, the figures supplied by you, and I find the timber is estimated at one hundred thousand dollars at least.”

“I believe those figures are a bit below the mark,” said Hatton, who always sought to be scrupulously exact in conferring with his superior.

“Huh!” ejaculated Thaxter. “And we lose that, eh?”

“Mr. Thaxter, unless we come to terms with Nace I fear we shall,” earnestly assured Hatton.

“What! treat with him? Never,” said the president firmly.

​“Then he’ll treat with the Consolidated,” warned Hatton.

“Hatton, you have got us into a pretty kettle of fish,” condemned Thaxter. “My secretary has preserved I don’t know how many newspaper articles in which this matter has been widely exploited. Now, by your premature actions we will be made the laughing stock of the whole country. The company’s allied interests will suffer. It means we have lost our prestige, sir.”

Hatton bowed and quietly regretted, “It has been a deep source of pain to me, Mr. Thaxter, to have involved the company in an unwholesome situation. I have my resignation written out to take effect immediately. I will now present it.”

“What good will your resignation do me, or the company?” cried Thaxter. “You’ve been a valuable man for us, Hatton. We had high hopes of you. We had intended to advance you to higher affairs. Keep your resignation, but the advancement must wait until this muddle is satisfactorily cleared up.”

“I thank you,” murmured Hatton. “But my loyalty to the company compels me to advise that we compromise with Nace. He is a coarse, brutal, greedy man. His demands will ​be exorbitant, but if we can trim them down to decent proportions we will do well to hush the matter up. It will keep out the Consolidated and we will be able to save our face. Needless to say, never again will I be caught in such a trap.”

“I should imagine once would do for a lifetime,” sarcastically replied Thaxter. “Well, it’s like taking a nasty dose of medicine, but if we must go through with it, we must. If it wasn’t for the Consolidated people I’d never consent to any compromise. He might steal my timber, but he should never sell it to me.”

“Very well,” said Hatton, his heart beating high with elation as he believed the worst of the storm was past; “he’ll be here at eight o’clock in the morning to discuss the matter with you.”

“What! he’ll make appointments, set the hour, and tell me when he’ll see me?” fumed Thaxter. “I’ll not see him.”

“But, my dear sir; he undoubtedly realized you are a very busy man and must be seen at that hour, or not at all,” soothed Hatton.

“I can’t see him after that hour, but—well, well, what’s the use. Send word to the scoundrel that he may call on me here at the hour ​you suggest. Now, I’ll return to my car and see if I can get a little peace and quiet.”

As Hatton was politely opening the door for him Abner stepped across the threshold and dropped his knapsack into a chair.

“I’ll receive your report later, Abner,” informed Hatton.

“Abner? Abner who?” quickly asked the president, turning. “What do you do, Abner?”

“Who might ye be?” asked Abner.

“I might be a wise man and surrounded by intelligent foremen. But I’m simply the president of the company that runs these mills here.”

“Wal, if it’s yer company what pays my wages I’ll say my name is Abner Whitten, timber cruiser and walking-boss fer the Great Northern. I am now ready to report on the Flat-Top ridge matter.”

“He’s the cruiser I was speaking of,” hastily explained Hatton, wishing to be rid of the veteran for fear the president would change his mind and become irascible again.

“Huh!” exclaimed the president, moving back to his chair. “Well, go ahead. I’m the boss here now. What did you find?”

​“It was a hopeless quest from the start,” began Hatton, when Thaxter broke in:

“Will you kindly consider yourself on a vacation, sir, for a few minutes? Now, my man, What did you find? Bring me what I call good news and I’ll give you five thousand dollars.”

Abner’s hand, reaching for the knapsack was slowly withdrawn, and he asked, “But if I bring good news because I was helped by two younkers and a Injun will ye make it five thousand dollars apiece?”

“Nonsense, Abner—” warned Hatton.

“Remember that vacation, or you’ll take an indefinite one,” growled Thaxter. Then to Abner, “What are you trying to do? Play a Nace trick on me?”

“I ain’t trying no tricks,” replied Abner indignantly. “As fer vacations ye have a timber cruiser what’ll take one fer good so fer as ye and yer old company is concerned if he hears any more words like them. What d’ye mean talking five thousand dollars to me? I come in here ready to file my report. If ye want to make me a present of five thousand dollars and are willing to make the same to my three companions—always previding the news is worth it—why, say so. If ye don’t there’s no harm ​done. Ye’ll git yer report without a penny.”

“Stop! stop! Will you stop? Silence, sir,” roared Thaxter. Then very mildly, “Abner, I’m beginning to like you. I’m not in the habit of making presents to men who simply do their duty. But I’m worked up over this Flat-Top ridge proposition. If you bring me news that will help me beat this man Nace I’ll give you the five thousand dollars and—how old are these other two?”

“Sixteen years apiece and growing like sin.”

“Hm. I see. Well, say, fifteen hundred each and the same to the Indian. Yes, I’ll do that.”

“Hooray!” shouted Abner. “We’ll pool the money and divide it even among Charlie, the two boys and me. Bub gits all I leave when I die, anyway. Here’s the report.”

To the amazement of the president and manager he pulled a strip of bark from the knapsack and laid it on the desk.

“What tomfoolery is this?” demanded the president, moving to hurl the bark aside.

“Hands off!” warned Abner, pouncing upon the precious exhibit. “Don’t ye know it’s a’gin the law to destroy monuments like that? Want to be another Jim Nace? That’s the ​proof ye’re about to part with nine thousand five hundred dollars—plus our reg’lar wages, of course—to git. Here! look!”

And removing the mirror from over the washstand he held the bark before it. “See them two circles, linked, with the arrer and the initials? This bark was cut off’n the ancient beech on yer genuine line by my companion, Reddy, also known as Rusty and Fire-Weed. We earned all ye’ll gin us a gitting it down here.”

“They’ve turned the trick!” cried Hatton. “You won’t have to see Nace.”

“Do you mean this is one of the original boundary marks?” eagerly asked the president.

“It are,” solemnly assured Abner. “The big beech is still standing with the record on its trunk. It has been examined by Noisy Charlie, the younkers and all of the Frenchmen. If it’s cut down afore we git up there ag’in we have all the proof we want.”

“Then I want to see Nace,” grimly decided the president. “Let no word of this get out. It will be a pleasure for me to see Mr. Nace, and at eight, sharp. What else, Friend Abner?”

“Wal, not much of anything. O yes; Big ​Nick and a feller named Pete, shot each other to death while trying to kill Bub and Reddy. Pete thought he was shooting Charlie and the half-breed killed him just to have company, I guess. Then there’s two scoundrels called Ben and Joe. We left ’em up Rangeley way. Both plugged rather seriously, but they’ll git well enough to go to prison.”

“I’m glad I did not offer a thousand for each item,” smiled the president, now completely restored to good nature. “Anything else?”

“I vum! I plum fergot,” cried Abner. “We found where Nace cut over a public lot. The Frenchmen remembered working fer him on it. So we’ve got a clear case ag’in him. He’ll have to turn over some twelve thousand dollars to the town. And I guess that’s all and I’ll be going.”

“But I am interested in you. Wait a bit,” invited the president.

“And I’m interested in Reddy out there and must hustle out—”

“Have him in here,” commanded the president.

“It’s the youth who thought of the pulp pipe line,” reminded Hatton. Then from the door, “Here, Reddy. Come in here.”

​Perhaps Hatton and Abner were never more amazed in their lives when the youth halted on the threshold and in a dazed voice gasped, “Uncle Ross!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CONCLUSION

It would be impossible to state which of the quartette was the most astonished. As Stanley cried out President Thaxter sprang forward and clasped him in his arms. For once in his life Hatton lost his composure; the amazement on his usually cold face rivalling that depicted by Abner’s angular features.

“Mr. Thaxter! Is this your—your nephew?” finally cried Hatton, as he beheld the former kitchen boy in the magnate’s embrace.

“Our Reddy his nevvy!” stuttered Abner, pressing both hands to his head.

“Leave us for a while,” requested Thaxter in a low voice.

Hatton and Abner stumbled out of the door and stared at each other dumbly. The arrival of Bub on the scene loosened their tongues and each sought to be the first to proclaim the astounding news.

Bub’s eyes and mouth opened very wide as he gathered the truth from their disjointed exclamations.

​“It doesn’t seem real,” muttered Bub.

“They’re both in there now, a-hugging each other,” excitedly assured Abner.

“Stanley Malcolm is undoubtedly President Thaxter’s nephew,” declared Hatton, slowly returning to his normal cast of countenance.

“And to think how ye refused him the chance to go with me to Flat-Top,” murmured Abner.

Hatton winced. “Of course I’m not supposed to know who a strange boy is who gives no account of himself,” he defended. “Had I known he was related to President Thaxter I should have given him a reception worthy of his high connections—that is, insofar as my humble means would permit.”

“Then I’m mighty glad ye didn’t know,” cried Abner. “Fer then I’d never had a chance to get acquainted with one of the best younkers that ever made fool mistakes in the woods.”

“And the Great Northern would not have won the fight against Jim Nace,” added Bub, dancing about for sheer joy.

At this point Thaxter opened the office door and motioned the three to enter. Bub and Abner were diffidently hanging back when Stanley looked over his uncle’s shoulder and commanded, “Hi, you two. Come in here. ​You’ve bullied me in the woods, but I’m boss now. Hustle along.”

“I didn’t know I was combing down the president’s nephew,” grinned Abner nervously.

“You were just as good a fellow, Stan, when I first met you as you are now,” earnestly declared Bub.

“My nephew is fortunate in falling in with you two,” warmly spoke up Thaxter, grasping the veteran and Bub by the hand. “It was the making of him. Naturally you are all curious to know several things. Shall I tell it, Stanley, or will you?”

“You explain, Uncle,” replied Stanley.

Thaxter rested a hand on Stanley’s shoulder and began: “This youth is the only child of my dear, dead sister. I have no kith or kin except him. He was never a boy who abused his position, but his natural disposition was er—er—”

“Overbearing and despicable,” supplied Stanley quickly.

“No, not as bad as that,” fondly smiled Thaxter. “But we two sometimes failed to agree. Not that Stanley was guilty of any wrongdoing, but he was headstrong about school matters and I was firm in my ways. The ​result was that when he wished to change his school I refused to consent. I was not particularly pleased with his standing in school and scolded him a bit too severely, I fear. At last I was foolish enough to tell him he was dependent on me and could not earn his salt if cast upon the world. We were in New York at the time. He replied that he could, if allowed the opportunity like other boys. I laughed at him.

“In the morning he was gone. I smiled, thinking he was sulking at the home of some friend. As several days went by I made inquiries. Then I became alarmed. I hired detectives and quietly instituted a search of the whole country; only, I never dreamed of his being up in Maine. I knew he had talked of going to Mexico some time and feared that he was down there. The unsettled condition of the country added to my alarm, and it was in the Southwest that we-searched the closest.

“Now by accident I find him up here—manly and capable to earn his own way. My friends, you have no idea of my gratification in learning that he has fought his way without asking for help on the strength of his name. He knew that he could draw on me for any amount at ​any time. Yet my bankers tell me he has never asked for a penny. By and by I shall want Bub and Mr. Whitten to fill in the gaps he has left open.”

“It is your nephew who suggested the pulp pipe line,” broke in Hatton.

“He has not told me that,” cried the delighted president.

“We always called him Reddy and Rusty,” added Bub.

“Dear! dear!” murmured the president. “To think of a Malcolm, a nephew of a Thaxter, being styled by such a common nickname.”

“I liked it,” stoutly insisted Stanley. “It made me feel like other boys. I was heartily tired of being bowed to and waited upon. I think it was that that in part caused me to get sour and disagreeable. However, I want to say right here that a fellow never had a better friend and uncle than I have. All the fault has been mine, and as Abner has so often said I needed to be ‘larruped.’”

“Hold on, Reddy—I mean Mister Malcolm,” protested Abner. “Them remarks was made to a younker that needed ’em. I might have spoke different, if I’d—no, I’ll tell the truth. I guess I’d said it anyway.”

“That sounds better,” laughed Thaxter. ​“What a joke if Mr. Whitten had birched you, my boy.”

“I’d stood for it,” grinned Stanley. Then observing the gathering gloom on Bub’s face he quickly asked, “But, Mr. Thomas, why this castdown look? Aren’t you glad to find I’m what I am?”

“I don’t see why I should be,” slowly decided Bub. “I’m selfish, I guess. I found a friend, a rattling good fellow. Now I lose him. I guess I would have preferred to have you remain Reddy—and making mistakes.”

“None of that,” fiercely warned Stanley, shaking Bub by the shoulders. “I’m just the same as I was up on Flat-Top. I shall always be Reddy to you. Discovering my uncle makes no difference in my feelings for you and Abner.”

“Red—Stanley, do you mean that?” cried the delighted youth

“I vum! I believe he does,” muttered Abner.

“See here, you two,” angrily declared Stanley. “What do you think I am? Didn’t you two take me up and befriend me when I didn’t have as many friends or as much to eat as the cook’s dog? Are you mean enough to think ​that any amount of money would change my feelings for you two?”

“Forgive me, Stan,” blurted Bub. “But it is all so strange that I can’t think straight.”

“Mr. Malcolm will accompany you back to town?” politely inquired Hatton.

“No,” smiled Stanley. “Reddy Malcolm will put in the summer with Bub in prospecting for amethysts and tourmalines and fresh water pearls, and on the side look after things up north for the company. Abner Whitten will be assigned to look after us.”

“As my successor to be,” gravely informed Thaxter, “my nephew’s orders will be accepted by you, Hatton, as if they came from me. You can rest assured that he will not overstep or interfere with your routine duties, or ever ask anything unreasonable. But if he asks for men, or any kind of help you will be pleased to accommodate him, I know.”

“What Mr. Malcolm says will go with me,” suavely returned Hatton.

“I knew it would,” said Thaxter, his lips curling in a slight smile.

“How about Laura?” asked Bub.

“We’ve talked of her and her father,” said Stanley. “My uncle will arrange for ​Professor Carlton to enter upon his chosen work in Colorado this fall.”

“Guess ye thought of everything,” admired Abner. “Now as ye two want to be alone and chin I’ll go over and eat a snack.”

“We have even thought of that,” smiled Thaxter. “You two will accompany Stanley and me back to my private car, where we will see what Josef, my chef, has good for dinner.”

“Supper,” mechanically corrected Abner, his eyes glistening.

“We’ll make it a combination of both,” laughed Stanley.

“See here, my son,” whispered Bub aside, “I don’t want to go down there. I’m not use to that sort of thing. I’d feel ashamed.”

“Quit that,” sternly ordered Stanley. “By the same line of argument I shouldn’t have gone north to feel ashamed of my greenness. To the car you go and Josef will give Abner a meal that he’ll remember ever after. I know Josef of old, and he’ll be that tickled to see me that he’ll throw on all the style at his command.”

“I ain’t just dressed fer polite company,” Abner was beginning to remonstrate, but Thaxter caught his arm and led him to the door, saying:

​“It is I who am in the best of company. The man who saved my boy’s life is the best company I shall ever enjoy. Say no more. I am only sorry that that splendid Indian fellow is not here to go with us.”

“I do not believe Noisy Charlie would care to go with us,” said Stanley. “We must do something handsome for him, if we can only find the right way. Maybe, Abner can help us out on that.”

“I’ll do anything fer Charlie,” said Abner earnestly. “It was really the Injun that pulled us all through.”

“No one shall be forgotten,” assured Thaxter. “Stanley has made a memorandum of all of his friends. There is a White and a McPherson and a French Louey—”

“Let’s not go into that,” blushed Stanley.

“We’d better be hurrying,” worried Abner. “If I’m going to eat in a railroad car I don’t want the supper to git cold. S’pose that cookee of yer’n will have some hot tea? Don’t want him to bother to make it, but if he’s got any on the back of the stove I’d like a cup, I guess. All these happenings sort of make me nervous.”

“You shall have all the tea you can drink,” promised Stanley. “And strawberries and—”

​“Hold on,” warned Abner. “Don’t show yer ignorance before yer Uncle, Reddy. Strawberries don’t grow at this time of year. Kind of slipped, eh?”

“Wait and see,” smiled Stanley, winking at Bub.

After Abner had been pushed into the back seat of the machine with Stanley and Bub on either side of him, Hatton humbly reminded, “Does that interview with Nace stand?”

“Certainly. I’ll be here on the hour. Mr. Whitten and the boys will stop with me to-night. We’ll all be here. Only you need not say anything to Nace about my nephew, or their discovery on Flat-Top.”

“Most assuredly not,” said Hatton, bowing his way back to the office.

That night Abner was in wonderland. With no conception of a private car he had imagined he was to be taken to the usual rough and ready coach used on roads penetrating the lumber district and be entertained with a nondescript lunch.

Josef, overcome to behold his favorite, no sooner learned Stanley’s wishes than he bestirred himself to an unusual degree. Thaxter, a man of quiet habits and plain tastes, was almost surprised into betraying his ​amusement when the four sat down to the table and Abner was besieged with the various dishes, including strawberries. At the end of the meal, when the veteran could eat no more, he anxiously asked:

“Is this same feller to cook breakfast?”

“Josef cooks all my meals when I am at home or in my car,” informed Thaxter.

“All right,” sighed Abner. “I’m glad I’m going to bunk here to-night. Hope he’ll have some of that cold sweet stuff.”

Stanley chuckled, but took an opportunity to order ice cream for breakfast.

Promptly at eight o’clock next morning Nace entered the office, wearing his hat at an aggressive angle. He was confident that he had won his fight and was about to add nearly a quarter of a million to his already moderate fortune. His salutation to Hatton was curt and sharp. The manager, in turn, was meek and mild in bearing and rubbed his hands nervously.

“Kind of upset at the thought of having the boss here this morning, eh?” grinned Nace.

“He was much put out yesterday afternoon when I told him that we were helpless,” mumbled Hatton. “It even reached a point where I offered to resign.”

“Ha! ha!” chuckled Nace. “Well, if you ​git fired maybe I can find something for you to do.”

“Thank you,” murmured Hatton. “Here comes President Thaxter. ”

“Who’s that with him?” scowled Nace.

“Only Abner Whitten and the two boys, known as Bub and Raddy,” quietly replied Hatton.

“Whitten! Why, I thought he—that is, I did not expect him,” faltered Nace, his jaw dropping.

“Yes, he got out alive; also brought the boys,” said Hatton simply.

“I don’t know what you mean by such talk,” cried Nace, his mouth tightening. “Why are they coming here? I was to meet old Thaxter alone.”

“That will do,” growled Hatton, knocking Nace’s hat from his head. “You are about to meet President Thaxter. And remember your manners.”

Nace started as if about to reach for a weapon, but Hatton’s hand resting in a drawer of the desk caused him to change his mind.

“President Thaxter, this is Jim Nace,” briefly announced Hatton, never removing his eyes from the operator.

“I have but a moment,” informed Thaxter. ​“And I object to having this crowd here,” hotly cried Nace, half rising from his chair.

“This crowd is composed of my nephew, Stanley Malcolm, and his two good friends, Mr. Whitten and Mr. Thomas,” quietly resumed Thaxter. “Now for business. How much are you worth?”

“None of your business!” cried Nace, his heavy face revealing his bewilderment.

“0n the contrary it is my business,” smoothly assured Thaxter. “I have an important proposition to make.”

Instantly Nace saw himself investing in the Great Northern and becoming one of its heads. “Why, I guess I could scare up a hundred thousand pretty quick,” he lazily replied.

“I see,” mused Thaxter. “Very well; we’ll have to proceed on that theory. You will give Noisy Charlie, the Indian guide, the sum of ten thousand dollars. You will give a like amount to Abner Whitten. You will divide a third ten thousand between my nephew and Mr. Thomas.”

“Give thirty thousand dollars!” gasped Nace in a dazed voice.

“Yes; no man can say I ever bore down too severely,” returned Thaxter.

​“But why—what do I get in return?” puzzled Nace, beads of sweat now dotting his red forehead.

“You will be allowed to remain outside of state-prison until some new piece of crookedness lands you there,” calmly answered Thaxter.

“What d’ye mean! How dare you talk to me in such a slanderous way?” bellowed Nace. “I’ll have the law on you. These men are witnesses that—”

“Sit down,” coldly warned Hatton, tapping something hard in the drawer.

“This is a hold-up,” choked Nace, his eyes now roving about the room as if seeking a place to escape.

“Besides doing what I have directed you will turn over to the town owning the public lot, which you cut and then burned over, the sum of twelve thousand dollars, which Mr. Whitten says will cover the stolen stumpage. Of course the town will put in its surveyors to verify Mr. Whitten’s estimate.”

“Is that all?” huskily asked Nace.

“Not quite. You will cause to be printed within three days an announcement that you have withdrawn from politics and will never ​participate in them again. It will be printed over your signature.”

“Now, hear me!” roared Nace rising. “I don’t know what your game is, but your city bluff won’t go. I don’t know what you mean by my stealing school timber. It is just another cause for a slander suit—”

“Tut, tut, man. Cease being foolish,” impatiently advised Thaxter. “We have the very workmen you employed when you cut over that lot.”

Nace licked his dry lips in silence for a few moments, and then hoarsely announced, “If I’ve got over a line I’ll pay the shot. But you talk in riddles. I came here to discuss my Flat-Top ridge holdings.”

“I don’t want to buy your holdings,” said Thaxter. “Your timber is sparse and too high up the ridge. We have all we care for on that watershed.”

“But my eighty acres,” muttered Nace.

“If you mean the timber you have claimed against us, the courts will settle that title if you do not relinquish your claim within a day or so.”

“Never!” shouted Nace, now thoroughly enraged and bewildered. “You talk like a crazy ​man with your demands on my pocketbook. You can be—”

“Show him the bark,” directed Thaxter. “He annoys me with his coarse ways.”

Abner stepped to the desk and brought out the beech panel and held it up before Nace’s dull eyes. “It was taken from the boundary tree, on our line,” grinned the cruiser. “The tree is there now.”

Nace gave a bellow and was about to clutch the precious bark, but Abner drew it from his reach, while something clicked in Hatton’s concealed hand. “Easy, Nace,” warned the manager.

Then Thaxter concisely outlined the case against the cornered operator, informing him of the death of two of his henchmen and the arrest of the other two. “I would prosecute you for their attempt at murder, but I might not be able to secure a conviction,” he concluded. “So I strike at your pocketbook and drive you from politics. Needless to say your life would not be worth much if ever you go into the woods again. When may I expect you to send out certified checks for the sums mentioned?”

“Within two days,” surrendered Nace, now utterly humbled.

​“Then I think you may go,” said Thaxter.

After the operator had stumbled from the office Thaxter turned to the boys and said, “How about school?”

“When I return Bub goes with me,” replied Stanley. “I only ask for this summer with the privilege of requesting a longer vacation this fall. I will not ask for the latter unless during the summer I make up my studies so that I will not fall behind should I stay out a year. Bub is ahead of me now and we can study together; but I do want to see more of this life.”

“See how he’s putting on flesh and muscle,” admired Abner. “When he come here he was thin as a herring. A season in the woods would be mighty good schooling fer him.”

Thaxter pondered deeply. “I’ll see about it,” he finally announced. “You may have the summer and we’ll talk over the fall and winter plans later. Now make out a list of things you want me to send down and I’ll be going back. I must be in Boston to-night.”

“For one thing, send all the books you can on geology and the minerals of Maine,” laughed Stanley, writing it down as he spoke. “Then the handsomest rifle you can find for Charlie.”

​“Better quit talking and do more writing,” advised Abner.

“And we’ll give Mr. Thaxter the best stone we find this summer for a ring or scarf-pin,” cried Bub.

“I have it!” cried Stanley. “Among other things we’ll work Miss Laura’s amethyst pocket.”

“Guess I’ll go over and see what we’re going to have fer dinner,” said Abner.

THE END

This article uses material from the Wikipedia article  Metasyntactic variable, which is released under the  Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.