Brick's abduction was discussed for half an hour longer, but neither Sparwick nor the boys could hit upon a plausible solution.

"Can't we get out of this place and follow the rascals?" suggested Jerry. "There are three of us, and we have plenty of arms and ammunition."

"If we do, we've got to hurry," declared Hamp. "They've got a big start on us."

"Look here," exclaimed Sparwick. "You say this lad has a rich father in New York?"

"Yes," replied Jerry.

"And the old man would likely fork over handsome if I was to get his son out of a tight place?"

"I suppose he would," Jerry answered. "If we get all that money back, I'm sure Brick will give you a big reward himself."

"Well, I'll do my best," declared Sparwick, with sudden energy. "I ain't much on the fight, but I'm purty good on strategy. And that's how we'll tackle these fellows. I have an idea where they'll strike for. If you lads say the word, I'll lead you right to the spot."



CHAPTER XXIII.

BACK TO FREEDOM.

It is needless to say that Hamp and Jerry accepted Kyle Sparwick's offer with ill-concealed eagerness. That it was prompted solely by greed made no difference to them under the circumstances.

They felt that Brick must be rescued at any cost.

Sparwick bound the boys by a solemn agreement to do all in their power to procure for him a reward of five hundred dollars. They were staggered by the munificence of the sum, but they did not dispute it. Sparwick claimed the contents of the pocketbook as part payment in advance. He allowed Jerry to take possession of the watch.

The affair was settled without delay, and then they turned their attention to getting out of the cavern.

They regarded this as an easy matter, but a few minutes sufficed to show them that they were in a very ugly fix.

They first explored the passage beyond the dead bear. It terminated thirty feet distant in a hard wall of rock. Then they investigated the other end of the cavern with much the same results. It dwindled to a tiny crevice, through which a weasel could hardly have squirmed.

"It looks ugly," muttered Sparwick, scratching his head. "The bear must a-had some way to get in. He never dropped ten feet through that hole."

This was sound logic, as the boys well knew. Hamp suggested another search. Accordingly the cavern was gone over with extra care and patience.

The result was the same. No visible outlet existed, save the tiny hole overhead. Here the prisoners stopped and looked up. They quickly made a disheartening discovery. It was snowing fast outside. The white flakes were dropping through the dingy and trampled mass of crust.

"The trail of those rascals will all be covered up," exclaimed Jerry, dolefully.

"It is out of sight by this time," replied Sparwick. "But that won't matter much. I can guess purty well where them fellars are going. I ain't denyin' that time is vallyble, though. There ought to be a way to climb out of here."

"One of us might get on your shoulders," suggested Hamp.

"No use," Sparwick replied. "There ain't nothin' to ketch hold of but a rim of snow. It's purty hard, but it wouldn't bear the weight of one of you chaps."

This was manifestly true. Various other plans were discussed, and abandoned as impossible.

Soon night came on, and the pale gray light faded away from the crevice. The boys and their companion were now face to face with a dreadful and terrifying fact. They were hopelessly entombed underground. Unless some rescuer should chance that way—and there was slight hope of this—they were doomed to certain death.

The disaster affected them differently. Sparwick fell into a dull, apathetic mood, from which he would rouse at times to wring his hands and groan. The man was plainly a coward at heart.

Outwardly, Jerry and Hamp made a braver show of courage. Perhaps they didn't realize how black was the prospect. That they still clung to a ray of hope was shown by their actions. Again and again they traversed the entire length of the cavern, vainly searching for an outlet that had no existence.

As the night advanced, they suffered from hunger and cold. Only ten feet above them were the two sheds, laden with everything needful. The possession of these would mean, at the least, the power to endure a long siege of imprisonment.

An idea flashed into Jerry's mind. He brought the rifle, and reached up with it, standing on tiptoe. He was not tall enough, so he gave the weapon to Sparwick. The latter was barely able to poke the sleds, but he could not budge them an inch. They were evidently wedged tightly across the hole. Their great weight held them there as though in a vise.

Sparwick dashed the weapon from him.

"It's no use," he cried. "I might as well try to move a mountain. A year's poking won't bring them sleds down."

This ended the hopes of warmth and food. Death by starvation now stared the captives in the face. A little later, the candle burned to the very bottom and went out. The remaining one was too precious to light. Sparwick crawled over against the wall. Jerry and Hamp followed him. There they spent the night, huddled close to one another for warmth.

The hours of darkness seemed like so many weeks. At last the pallid light of dawn appeared overhead. Another day had begun its course.

The day wore on with protracted suffering and monotony. Long after it seemed that night was surely due, the gray streak of light continued to quiver in the crevice.

At length Jerry sprang fiercely up and lit the precious candle. Lured on by a hope that was born of despair, he staggered up and down the cavern. He stared at the slimy walls and roof. From very weakness he reeled against them time and again. Perhaps his wits were hunger-sharpened, as he was more alert than usual. At all events, he discovered something that had previously eluded him.

On the right-hand wall of the cave, close to the dead bear, was a sort of rude path. It sloped up the rock by crevices and little ledges and projecting knobs.

Jerry held the candle as far overhead as possible. The light shone into a narrow, black recess under the roof. He shouted with all his might, again and again, till the cavern rang with the echoes.

Hamp came in haste to the spot, and close behind staggered Sparwick. They wonderingly demanded of Jerry what he meant. Possibly they believed, at first, that suffering had turned his brain.

Jerry pointed out the path and the crevice above it. Then they understood.

"It is where the bear entered," exclaimed Sparwick. "Look, here's proof enough."

He gathered from one of the crevices several stiff, black hairs.

Jerry had already commenced the ascent. He held the candle tightly in one hand as he scaled the rugged face of the rock. Hope mastered weakness. He did not slip or fall.

His companions were close behind him when he gained the top. Here was a tortuous passage, three or four feet broad, leading off at right angles from the main cavern. The little party followed it eagerly.

For half-a-dozen yards it remained level. Then it dropped at a steep angle for almost an equal distance, meanwhile growing more and more narrow. Ah! here was the termination at last—not a hopeless wall of rock, but a mass of soft, powdery snow. This was a sure promise of deliverance. What could snow mean but that the outer world was close at hand?

"We are saved!" cried Jerry, as he placed the candle firmly on the floor of the passage.

"Yes, saved!" echoed Hamp, in a broken, husky voice.

"Derned if we ain't," declared Sparwick. "Dig, youngsters; dig."

He dropped on his hands and knees, and started in.

The boys helped him from each side. They tore furiously at the soft snow, crushing it down as they advanced.

The tunnel grew deeper and deeper.

Suddenly, the light crust overhead broke of its own weight. All sprang erect, threshing out with their arms. They found themselves in the open air, and facing a level stretch of pine forest.

Behind them was the rugged hillside, under which lay the cavern. They were simply speechless with the joy of that first moment of freedom. They inhaled long, deep breaths of the frosty air. Twilight was just falling. It was not yet so dark but that a glimpse could be had through the trees of the misty, distant surface of Chesumcook Lake.

But hunger and cold were quick to assert their sway.

"We must get the sleds!" exclaimed Hamp. "That's the first thing."

"An' we'll have ter spend another night in the cavern," added Sparwick. "We sart'nly ain't fit to travel, even if we wanted to push on through the darkness."

This was too self-evident for denial. The boys regretted the fact, since every hour of delay seemed to lessen the chances of saving Brick from the unknown fate that threatened him.



CHAPTER XXIV.

A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE.

It is time to take the reader back to the lonely cabin in the swamp.

Brick's daring defiance of his captors fairly petrified them with astonishment and consternation. There was an ill-concealed twinkle of admiration in Raikes' eyes. Bogle's expression indicated only savage anger.

"You won't write a line, eh?" snarled Bogle, with suppressed fury.

"No, I won't," repeated Brick. His voice was a trifle hoarse, but resolute. "I know what you're after, but you shan't succeed. You've robbed me of enough money as it is. I won't help you to get any more out of my father——"

The words were cut suddenly short, for Bogle had fastened on the lad's throat with the ferocity of a bloodhound. He shook him to and fro, dragged him half across the room, and then pitched him roughly on the bed.

Brick staggered to his feet. His face was purple, and he gasped painfully for breath. He glanced around him, but every avenue of escape was barred.

"Have you had enough?" demanded Bogle. "Are you ready to write now?"

"No," came hoarsely from Brick's lips.

The brutal treatment had only made him more dogged and determined.

With a savage exclamation, Bogle sprang forward. But before he could reach the lad, Raikes slipped between the two.

"Hold on, Joe," he pleaded. "You're going about it the wrong way. Violence won't do any good. Try persuasion."

"Persuasion be hanged," growled Bogle. "I'll bring the obstinate young fool to terms mighty quick. Stand aside, Silas."

But Raikes did not move. He held his ground, and kept his angry companion at arm's length.

"Better take my advice, lad," he said, turning to Brick. "I'm peaceably inclined, and I don't want to see you hurt. You've got to come to terms some time, and why not now? It's not likely that we would let you slip through our fingers after going to all this trouble. We're playing for high stakes, and we intend to win. It's not much we ask of you. And as for your father—why, ten thousand dollars is only a drop in the bucket to him. He will gladly pay double that amount to save your life."

"To save my life?" questioned Brick; and the pallor on his face deepened a little.

"That's just it," resumed Raikes in a coldly stern voice. "If you refuse to write the letters, you will never leave this cabin alive."

"A bullet through your head, and a grave in the swamp," added Bogle. "That's what you may expect."

"You would murder me?" cried Brick.

"Yes; if our plans failed," was Raikes' calm reply. "It would be necessary for our own safety. But you don't intend to drive us to that, I know. Come; be sensible. There are the writing materials on the table. Put the matter through without delay, and you will get your freedom in two or three weeks."

Brick's face was deathly pale, but there was a resolute gleam in his eyes.

"You won't dare to kill me," he replied. "You would surely hang for it. My friends will hunt every place for me, and they will get the loggers to help them. If you let me go, I'll promise not to say anything about the affair. And you may keep all that money."

Raikes laughed contemptuously.

"You are a bigger fool than I took you for," he said. "This cabin is as safe from detection as though it was in the center of Africa. We're not worried about your friends. Once more, are you going to write those letters?"

Brick was deceived by the pacific tone and words. He concluded that his threat had made a wholesome impression.

"No, I'm not," he replied, with an obstinate shake of the head.

"But you will," thundered Bogle. "I'll show you who is master."

He pushed Raikes aside and knocked Brick to the floor by a heavy blow. Swearing violently, he lifted him by the hair, and dragged him over to the table. He forced him down on the bench, and pointed to the pen and ink.

"Now will you write?" he cried. "I'll give you one minute to obey."

Brick yelled loudly for help. He kicked and fought with all his might. In the scuffle the bench was overturned, and both landed on the floor. Brick jerked loose from his enemy, and rolled a few feet to one side. He sprang up, enraged and desperate. Bogle, too, was on his feet. Murder flashed from his eyes as he rushed at the lad.

Brick met the attack by a heavy blow of his fist. The ruffian staggered. He uttered a snarling cry. He lifted one hand to stanch the blood that flowed from his nose. Brick took advantage of this brief respite. He dodged cleverly by Raikes, who tried to stop him, and gained the farthest corner of the room. A rifle rested on two hooks above his head.

Just as he got possession of the weapon, Bogle dashed at him with a cry of fury. The ruffian was half insane. He snatched the weapon, and lifted it with both hands for a blow that would surely have split Brick's skull open.

But just in the nick of time Raikes gained the spot and seized his comrade by the collar. He jerked him back so forcibly and quickly that the heavy stock of the rifle missed the lad by a hair's breadth, and crashed to the floor.

"Do you want to ruin everything?" he demanded, hotly. "I saved you from murder."

"You won't prevent it this time," cried Bogle.

He tore loose from Raikes, and pulled the hammer of the rifle back. He took hasty aim at Brick, who gave himself up for dead. Then Raikes snatched the barrel of the weapon, and knocked it upward. The two men struggled for its possession, swaying backward and forward. Raikes was comparatively cool. Bogle was insane with passion. The latter slipped and came to his knees, dragging Raikes after him.

"Let go!" he cried, with a violent oath.

"No," refused Raikes. "You shan't murder the lad. You don't know what you are doing, Joe."

Snap! Bang! The weapon had gone off. Raikes' nerveless fingers let go of the barrel. Without a cry, he toppled over on his side. When the smoke cleared, a few seconds later, his white face stared up at the roof, and from his forehead trickled a little stream of blood.

Brick looked on, mute with horror. The sad disaster instantly sobered Bogle. He dropped the rifle, and staggered to his feet. Then he bent over his companion, and rubbed the white, still face.

"Silas! Silas!" he called, hoarsely.

There was no movement or reply. Bogle groaned aloud, and covered his face with his hands.

It was then that the thought of escape flashed into Brick's mind. The odds were against him, but anything was preferable to staying here at the ruffian's mercy.

Snatching up the rifle, he sped across the floor. He reached the door, and flung it open. A hoarse cry rang in his ears as he leaped across the threshold. He ran on without even a backward glance.

"Stop! Stop, or I'll kill you!"

Bogle's voice was husky with anger. His heavy steps came clattering in pursuit.

Brick was now across the clearing. He plunged into the tangled thickets of the swamp. He strained every muscle to escape. His heart beat high with hope.

For five minutes he twisted and dodged in every direction, planning thus to throw his enemy off the track. The fresh snow offered little resistance, and the older crust underneath easily bore his weight. Finally he stopped to listen. To his dismay, he heard a snapping and threshing of dry bushes not far behind him.

"What a fool I am!" he muttered. "I forget that every step I take can be traced. It's a question of speed now—nothing else will save me."

So he dashed on at a striding gait, paying scant heed to brambles or thickets or obstructing rocks. The rifle swung lightly in one hand. He almost forgot that he had it.

Nearer and nearer came Bogle, noisily threshing the undergrowth. In vain Brick made desperate spurts. In vain he twisted to right and left. He knew that he must soon be overtaken. He shuddered to think of what would happen then. He need hope for no mercy. Strength began to fail him. There was a throbbing pain between his eyes.

Suddenly he came to a fallen tree, with a thick copse of bushes behind it. He tried to mount the obstacle, but slipped back. Before he could make a second attempt, Bogle was at his heels.

"I've got you!" he cried. "Your time has come."

Brick wheeled around like a panther at bay. He cocked the rifle, and pointed it at the ruffian.

"Stop!" he shouted. "I'll shoot you if you come closer."

"The gun's empty, you fool!" exclaimed Bogle, with a mocking laugh.

He came on, fearlessly.

Brick thought the scoundrel was lying. In desperation he pulled the trigger. The hammer fell with a dull snap.

But Brick was determined to make the most of his freedom. He eluded Bogle's grasp and sprang over the tree, still holding the useless rifle. He plunged through the copse of bushes, and saw before him a strip of level, open ground, on which rested a thin covering of slushy snow. He went across in a dozen leaps, though more than once he sank above his ankles in what felt like soft mud. As he reached the bushes on the other side, he heard a shrill yell of terror behind him.



CHAPTER XXV.

TORTURED INTO SUBMISSION.

Brick was tempted to push on without looking back. But when a pleading appeal for help rang in his ears he hesitated and stopped.

Bogle had sunk above his waist in the middle of the slushy spot, which was nothing less than a treacherous bog. He was struggling desperately to free himself, and his face was ashen-gray with terror.

"Don't leave me here, youngster," he pleaded. "It's a regular death-trap. I'll never get out alone. Help me, quick."

"I can't do it," replied Brick. "I'll only get in myself. Anyway, I would be a fool to put myself in your power. You've murdered the man that tried to help me, and you ought to hang for it."

Bogle swore a terrible oath, and his eyes flashed a bitter hatred at the lad. Again and again he struggled furiously to escape from the oozy quagmire. His body sank lower and lower, until the surface of the bog was almost level with his armpits. Then his rage changed to abject despair.

"For the love of Heaven, save me," he begged. "Don't you see that I am being sucked down? I will be dead in five minutes. There lies a log at your feet. Roll it out here. The bog will easily bear your weight."

Brick looked on with horrified eyes. He could not make up his mind what to do. It was hard to risk the freedom which he had gained at such cost.

Bogle noted the lad's hesitation.

"Don't be afraid," he cried. "I swear to do you no harm. If you get me out of this place, I will set you free. I will give you all the money back, and will guide you to the edge of the swamp. Do you think a dying man would deceive you?"

His voice rose to a shrill pitch, and he extended his arms appealingly.

Brick concluded to trust the ruffian. He could not bear to go away and leave him to such a terrible fate.

"I'll save you, if I can," he said, "and I shall expect you to keep your promises."

"I will, lad," declared Bogle. "I swear it. Quick, or you will be too late. I'm sinking deeper all the time."

Brick took hold of the log, and rolled it slowly across the quagmire. Several times he sank to the knees. Finally he twisted the log around so that the farther end came in reach of Bogle's hands.

The man grasped the log with a glad cry. He pulled and tugged for nearly five minutes, and gradually worked his body loose.

"Give me a lift, youngster," he said, "and I will be all right."

Brick walked half-way across the log, and extended the rifle.

Bogle grasped the weapon by the barrel. He came slowly up until his knees rested on the log. He was covered with filthy black mud from head to foot. With an effort he rose to his feet.

A strange gleam of triumph flashed across his crafty face. With one hand he snatched the rifle from Brick, and with the other he seized the lad by the collar.

"I've got you again," he exclaimed. "That was cleverly done."

Brick was at first too dazed by this unexpected treachery to offer any resistance. He permitted his captor to lead him across the log to firm ground.

Then he struggled to break loose.

"You promised to let me go," he cried, indignantly.

"Is this the way you reward me for saving your life?"

Bogle laughed harshly.

"Keep quiet," he said, "or I'll have to tap you on the head with this rifle stock. What sort of a greenhorn do you take me for? I would have promised anything to get out of that place."

Brick ceased to struggle. He knew it was useless. With a sinking heart he marched back through the swamp, held tightly by his ruffianly captor.

They soon came in sight of the cabin. When they crossed the threshold they met with a surprise. Raikes was sitting on the bed with a clean white bandage wrapped around his forehead.

"That you, Joe?" he said, feebly. "Where have you been? Did the lad escape?"

Bogle hastily explained.

"I'm sorry for what happened, old man," he added. "It was an accident, and I was to blame. I thought you were dead when I dashed out of the cabin after this young scamp here."

"It was a close call," replied Raikes. "The ball plowed a furrow right across my forehead."

"You need rest," said Bogle. "Sleep will fix you up better than medicine."

"Yes; I reckon so," admitted Raikes. "But what are you going to do with the lad? No more violence, Joe—for my sake. There are other ways to break him in."

"It shall be as you say," replied Bogle, "though I hate most infernally to lose the time. Still, you may not be able to travel for a day or two."

He hesitated a moment, and thoughtfully knitted his brows. Then he took a piece of rope from his pocket, and cut it in two.

Dexterously tripping Brick to the floor, he bound his ankles and wrists. Then he dragged him across the room, and threw open the door of a small, low closet that was level with the floor.

"Do you see that?" he exclaimed. "It's not a very snug place, but it's where you'll stay until you consent to write those letters. And nothing to eat or drink, remember. If you choose to starve to death, it's your own lookout."

A moment later Brick was in the closet, and the door was jammed tightly shut.

The closet was of such small dimensions that Brick could not stretch his body out full length, nor could he sit upright. The floor was hard, and through the log-wall next to the open air came a cold and cutting wind.

His limbs were bound very tightly, and soon he suffered from cramp and shooting pains. But Brick had an obstinate nature, and the thought of yielding was extremely bitter.

Incredible as it may seem, he actually held out all that day, and all of the night that followed. He suffered untold pain, and the torments of hunger, thirst and cold. Morning dawned, and breakfast preparations echoed through the cabin. The closet door was opened a slight crack, and Bogle's voice asked.

"Have you had enough, youngster?"

"Yes," muttered Brick, sullenly.

"Will you write those letters?"

"Yes," in a reluctant tone.

The door opened wide, and Brick was pulled out into the warmth and comfort of the room.

The youth's bonds were cut, and his stiffened limbs were rubbed with brandy. Then he was seated at the table, and given a hot breakfast. Raikes saw that he wanted for nothing, and even Bogle appeared to be in a rare good humor.

By the time the dishes were cleared away, Brick felt in good shape physically. But his sober and downcast face showed the keen humiliation of his defeat. When writing materials were brought out, he took pen and paper, and wrote at Bogle's dictation. Occasionally his eyes flashed, or his nostrils quivered. But not a word passed his lips. Bogle read the two letters in approving silence. Then he handed them to Raikes, who put them in his breast pocket.

The matter was not again referred to. The day wore monotonously on. Brick sat in a corner most of the time, looking miserable and unhappy. His companions paid no attention to him, but whispered a good deal among themselves.

The weather had moderated, and rain had fallen during the night. About midday the sky cleared, and a strong wind sprang up. It grew bitterly cold out of doors, and a blazing fire was scarcely sufficient to keep the cabin comfortable. This seemed to give great satisfaction to Raikes and Bogle. Brick overheard a few low remarks, such as "start at daybreak," "hard crust on the snow," "no danger of discovery."

When night came, Brick went to sleep between his captors. The broad light of day awakened him. He was alone on the bed, and his wrists were manacled. Bogle was the only other occupant of the cabin. He stood before the stove, stirring the contents of a frying-pan.



CHAPTER XXVI.

AVAILABLE PRISONER.

We left Kyle Sparwick and his young companions eating supper in the mouth of the cavern. Blankets and a fire enabled them to spend the night there very comfortably. Certainly they were much better off than Brick in his cold and narrow closet.

The little party rose at the first streak of dawn. While Jerry prepared breakfast, Hamp and Sparwick took a lantern and went deep into the cavern. With a sharp hunting knife they carved off as much bear's meat as they thought they could carry. Several of the steaks were fried for breakfast, and the rest were packed on the sleds.

In little more than an hour after daybreak the party were on the march. Through slushy snow and a drizzle of raw, misty rain, they tramped back to the clearing.

Two days had elapsed since Brick's abduction, and, of course, no traces were visible. Nor had Sparwick expected to find any. He merely used the spot as a starting point. Thence he led his companions northward, and during the morning they explored all sorts of secluded nooks in the vicinity of the lake shore.

At noonday, when the sky cleared and the bitter cold came on, they crossed Chesumcook, and conducted a rigorous search on the farther side. Here they met with no better success. About three o'clock Sparwick declared that most of the likely hiding-places had been looked into.

"It's queer what has become of the rascals," he said. "I'm inclined ter think they've struck south, so we'll try that tack next. No use in tryin' that direction," and he pointed his long arm eastward. "Over thar stretches a swamp fur miles an' miles. It's full of wild beasts, an' it ain't possible fur a man to go through it. I never heard of a hunter or trapper what was in the place. They're all afraid of it."

Jerry and Hamp did not dispute this, for they were familiar with the swamp's evil reputation.

The anxious searchers pushed on through a wild and rugged country until sundown. They were then, as nearly as they could judge, several miles southeast from the lower end of Chesumcook Lake.

They camped in a spruce thicket on the edge of a meadow. By means of a fire and a lean-to they defied the cold, and spent a fairly comfortable night.

Breakfast was prepared, and eaten amid a gloomy constraint. When the luggage was packed, Sparwick lit his pipe, and sat down on a log facing his companions.

"This is a queer business," he said. "I ain't denyin' that I've kinder lost my bearin's. We've sarched purty near every place whar them fellers would likely hev gone with the lad. It looks now as though they had struck out of the woods. There's a railroad settlement about twenty-five miles from here—a bit of a place called Kingman."

"But would they take Brick there with them?" asked Hamp.

Sparwick shook his head.

"It ain't likely they'd run such a risk."

"Then they must have murdered Brick," cried Jerry.

He rose to his feet in great excitement.

Sparwick neither denied nor affirmed the assertion. He drew hard at his pipe, and looked contemplatively across the meadow for nearly a minute of silence. Then an eager look flashed suddenly upon his face, and he held up one hand.

"Listen!" he whispered, hoarsely. "Thar's someone comin' through the woods."

The boys pricked up their ears and looked anxiously around. Yes, Sparwick was right. Behind the camp, and to the north of the spruce thicket, two sounds rose clearly on the crisp air, the slight patter of snowshoes and the rustling and snapping of bushes. The unknown traveler seemed to be heading directly toward the camp.

"It ain't a crowd of three," whispered Sparwick. "There's only one, from the sound. He don't know we're here, I reckon."

"Mebbe it's Brick," replied Jerry. "He might have escaped."

"Mebbe it ain't," observed Sparwick. "Nothin' like bein' on the safe side. Drop behind that log, you fellers, an' have your weapons ready."

The boys quickly obeyed. Sparwick threw a handful of snow on the dying embers of the fire. Then he snatched a rifle, and threw himself down beside his companions.

From this safe cover they commanded a view of the edge of the spruce thicket in both directions. The brisk tread of snowshoes and the threshing of bushes came nearer and nearer. Now the thicket was seen to quiver a few feet to the left of the camp. An instant later, to the amazement of the hidden watchers, Silas Raikes stepped into view.

The man carried a rifle in one of his mittened hands. He paused on the edge of the meadow, and looked around. A gleam of surprise and fear flashed into his eyes as he noted the sleds, the lean-to, the charred embers of the fire. But it was too late to retreat. Sparwick's tall figure rose before him, and a rifle-barrel sloped into his face.

"Drop that weapon, Raikes. Drop it, or I'll put daylight through you."

The command rang sharp and clear.

Raikes made a step forward, still retaining his rifle.

"That you, Kyle Sparwick?" he exclaimed, in a tone of genuine surprise. "This is a nice way to greet an old friend. What's got over you? Don't you know me any more?"

"Yes, I know you, Raikes, Bostick, Madden, Gerber, and whatever other names you have," growled Sparwick. "Sorry I can't be more polite, but this here is a business matter. Drop that weapon, I say. You ain't travlin' any farther jest now."

At that instant Jerry and Hamp rose up from behind the log, concluding that their services might be needed. Raikes saw them, and his mind grasped the situation.

A brief look of rage and disappointment distorted his features. Then, like a flash, he lifted his rifle, and tried to shoot Sparwick.

But the latter was too quick. With his own rifle, he knocked the other's weapon upward, and it was discharged harmlessly in the air.

With a savage oath, Raikes sprang at his antagonist. They exchanged a round of heavy blows. Sparwick's weapon was dashed from his hand. Raikes had nothing left but the shattered stock. Both grappled, and rolled over in the snow.

Jerry and Hamp looked on with suppressed excitement and anxiety. They saw no opportunity of interfering; nor was their aid needed. Sparwick was far more powerful than his opponent. Raikes made a desperate fight, and quickly exhausted his wind and strength. Sparwick tumbled him over on his back, and sat upon him.

"Lie still, or I'll smash you," he cried.

Raikes glared sullenly up at his enemy, panting for breath. He had no intention of renewing the contest. He was played out.

"Well, I reckon you know what we want with you," resumed Sparwick. "Where's the lad you and Joe Bogle carried off?"

"Don't ask me," muttered Raikes. "You're the one to answer that question. You robbed the lad, and we tried to overhaul you. When you gave us the slip the youngster started back to join his friends. If he never reached them you likely know something about it."

"That's a lie," exclaimed Sparwick. "You're too dumb to live. Listen here. I was hidin' in the bushes when you attacked the lad. I seen the whole thing. What did you do with him? Better own up to it."

"If you've murdered Brick you'll hang," cried Jerry, wrathfully.

Raikes looked crestfallen for an instant. Then a last expedient suggested itself to his fertile mind. He glanced at Jerry.

"Don't you boys be deceived by this ruffian. He is telling a clever lie. If your friend has disappeared, he is to blame. I don't doubt that he robbed and murdered that lad, and concealed the——"

"It's false!" interrupted Sparwick. "I've a mind to break your neck!"

He seized his prisoner by the throat, and shook him savagely. Raikes fought for breath, and in the struggle his coat was torn open, and thrown back from his breast. Something white peeped from the inner pocket. Sparwick made a grab, and hauled out two envelopes.

"Letters!" he exclaimed. "One to John Larkins, an' the other to Frederick Glendale. What's up now?"

Raikes uttered a hoarse cry, and snatched vainly at the letters. Then his head fell back, and a hopeless expression came over his face. He mumbled something inaudible. Meanwhile Sparwick had passed both envelopes to Jerry.

"See what's inside, lad," he said. "I kin make out to read writin', but no doubt you're better. Anyway, this scamp would snatch 'em out of my hand."

Hamp looked eagerly over Jerry's shoulder. The first envelope bore the following address:

MR. FREDERICK GLENDALE, Attorney at Law, Lears Building, Broadway, New York.

Jerry opened it, and took out a sheet of paper covered with neat and legible writing. He glanced briefly at it, and his eyes opened wide.

"Listen to this," he cried, excitedly. Then he read aloud: *

dear mr. glendale:—I am a prisoner in a lonely and inaccessible part of the Maine woods. My captors know who I am, and unless you pay them ten thousand dollars I will be murdered. The man who gives you this letter will tell you when and where the sum necessary for my release must be paid over. I send a letter for my father. Cable it to him at once if you need his authority to pay the money. There is no other way to get me out of the fix, so don't be so foolish as to appeal to the police. If the messenger is harmed, or fails to return here in ten days. I will be murdered. Don't delay, for my life is at stake. Only ten thousand dollars will save me. I am writing of my own free will.

Yours sincerely, jim larkins.

Jerry opened the other letter, and glanced through it.

"This is pretty much the same thing," he said. "Brick begs his father to cable to Mr. Glendale to pay the money at once, and without dispute. Did you ever hear of such an outrageous scheme of robbery? The whole affair is as plain as daylight now. Brick is a prisoner some place in the woods, and Bogle is watching him."

"That's just it," cried Hamp. "The thing was planned weeks ago. It sounds like a story out of a book. The idea of bandits carrying off a person for ransom money in the State of Maine."

"Gimme the letters," exclaimed Sparwick. He took them from Jerry, and held them up high in both hands. Slowly and monotonously he spelled out their contents.

"Je-ru-sa-lem!" he ejaculated. "Ten thousand dollars! Think of it. Yes, it's plain now. What a streak of luck to nab this fellow. We'll find the missing lad before long. An' if I pull him through all right, don't you boys forget your part of the bargain."

"We won't," assured Jerry.

"We'll stick to the compact," added Hamp.

Sparwick looked relieved.

Then he seized his prisoner, and lifted him rather roughly.

"Stand up, Raikes," he said. "An' no foolin', remember. We've got you in a tight place, an' we're goin' ter keep you there. I reckon you'll hev to postpone that little trip to New York."



CHAPTER XXVII.

THROUGH THE WOODS.

Raikes fixed his disheveled clothes, and pulled his cap down over his forehead. Then he thrust his hands into his pockets, and stared meaningly at Sparwick.

"What are you lookin' at me fur?" demanded Sparwick.

"I was just thinking what a big, lubberly fool you are," replied Raikes, boldly. "Hold on—don't get riled. I want to talk to you for a minute or two."

"Fire away," said Sparwick.

Raikes shook his head.

"No, not here. It must be a private conversation."

Sparwick hesitated, and a greedy look came into his eyes.

"No tricks," he replied, warningly, "or I'll smash your head."

He led his prisoner to a clump of bushes a dozen feet distant. Here they conversed in low, eager tones for nearly a quarter of an hour.

Jerry and Hamp looked on with some curiosity and suspicion. They were afraid that Raikes was coaxing Sparwick to turn traitor.

But the end of the palaver did not confirm this supposition. When the men returned, their relations were evidently the same as before. Raikes looked moody and downcast. Sparwick's impassive face told nothing. The latter handed the two letters to Jerry.

"Put 'em in your pocket," he said, "an' take good care of them. We're going to start right away."

"Where for?" Jerry asked.

"To rescue your pardner," was the reply. "I've got everything in shape. This rascal here hes concluded ter help us out, an' I've promised he shan't be prosecuted. He'll take us straight to Bogle an' the lad. We're goin' to save Mr. Larkins a cool ten thousand dollars."

This glib speech quite banished any lingering suspicion that Jerry or Hamp may have felt. They were highly elated by the news, and they helped to pack up with alacrity. In a short time the little party was on the march.

They headed straight back through the spruce woods. Raikes sullenly led the way, and Sparwick followed at his heels with a loaded rifle. The boys brought up the rear, dragging the sleds.

At the end of an hour they entered a low and tangled swamp. They went on through a maze of gloomy, intersecting paths. The boys were surprised to recognize the place.

"I thought this swamp was inaccessible," said Hamp.

"It were always reckoned so," replied Sparwick; "but it seems kind o' different now."

"Do you mean to say that this is where Brick is confined?" asked Jerry.

"Accordin' to the prisoner's statement that's the case," said Sparwick, "an' I don't reckon he'd lie about it. I've got a bullet ready fur the first sign of deceivin'. Do you hear that, old man?"

This last was addressed to Raikes. He neither replied nor turned around. He went steadily on, twisting to right and left through the tortuous windings of the swamp.

It was more than an hour later when the party came in sight of the clearing and the cabin. From the top of the roof a pillar of blue smoke curled slowly upward. The boys were startled and amazed. They eagerly examined their weapons.

"Will we likely have much of a fight?" asked Jerry.

"Not a bit," exclaimed Sparwick, scornfully. "Put up them weapons. We're four ag'in one. Do you think Joe Bogle's fool enough to resist. It'll all go our own way, lads."

Raikes was now half-way across the clearing. The others followed closely in his footsteps. Jerry and Hamp saw the cabin door thrown open. They heard a hoarse shout from within.

"It's all right, Joe," Raikes answered. "No shootin'."

Sparwick paused, and drove the boys into the cabin ahead of him. He followed with the sleds.

Jerry and Hamp stared eagerly at their surroundings. They saw Bogle leaning against the table with a savage and wondering expression on his face. Then they spied some one else, and heard a familiar voice call them by name. The next instant they were kneeling on the bed beside Brick, trying to clasp his fettered hands.

"We've come to save you," declared Jerry. "Your troubles are over now. Your father won't have to pay that money, either. Sparwick is helping us, you know. We told him that you would give him five hundred dollars if he saved you. That's why——"

The sentence was broken off short, for just then Bogle strode forward. His face blazed with anger. He clapped one hand on Raikes' shoulder.

"What the deuce does this mean, Silas?" he demanded, hotly. "Have you lost your senses? Why did you turn back, and bring this rabble here? Do you want to ruin everything?"

There was a brief pause. The boys looked on with thrilling and anxious interest. They expected to see Raikes seize and overpower his comrade.

Imagine their surprise, then, when Raikes leaned over, and whispered a few words into Bogle's ear. The two strolled amicably to the farthest end of the cabin, where they sat down on a bench, and began to talk in low tones.

Sparwick propped himself carelessly against the door, with his hands in his pockets. He studiously kept his eyes averted from the bed. As for the three lads—well, they were not a little puzzled by such strange proceedings. They were at a loss to account for them.

"I hope what you told me is true," whispered Brick. "It don't look much as if Bogle was a prisoner, though."

"No; it don't," admitted Jerry. "I'm afraid there's a hitch somewhere."

"Perhaps Raikes hasn't turned traitor, after all," suggested Hamp. "I mean that he may have fooled Sparwick."

"I'm afraid you two fellows are the ones that were fooled," said Brick. "It looks very much as though Sparwick had gone over to Raikes and Bogle. Perhaps they promised him more money."

Jerry and Hamp exchanged quick, meaning glances. It suddenly flashed upon them that Brick's suspicion was absolutely true.

Just then Jerry caught Sparwick's eye. He beckoned him to approach. But Sparwick pretended not to see. He looked the other way.

Before the boys could utter another word, Raikes and Bogle rose from the bench, and came across the room. Raikes paused in front of Sparwick, and said something to him. Bogle came on to the bed. His face wore a sneering smile of satisfaction.

"Give me those letters," he demanded of Jerry.

The lad hesitated. With a savage oath Bogle clinched his fist.

"The letters?" he repeated, "quick!"

Jerry realized his helplessness. He took the letters from his pocket, and handed them to the ruffian.

"You're a mean, lying traitor, Kyle Sparwick," he cried, angrily.

"None of that," exclaimed Bogle. "Keep a civil tongue in your head, or you will be sorry." He struck Jerry roughly on the face. Then he took their rifles from the two lads.

"Stay where you are," he added. "Don't move."

The boys cowered before the ruffian's fierce words and manner.

Bogle crossed the room, and put the weapons on a shelf over the fireplace. He strolled leisurely to the table, and perched himself on the edge. Raikes and Sparwick drew a bench up to the opposite side, and sat down.

"You've come here uninvited, Sparwick," said Bogle. "And I'm not any too glad to see you. You have chosen to meddle with an affair that was none of your business. I don't blame Raikes, for he did the best thing possible under the circumstances. You had the drop on him, and he knew it."

"It's fair enough, as far as I kin see," replied Sparwick, uneasily. "You an' I are old friends, Joe Bogle, an' there's no reason why I shouldn't have a hand at such rich pickin's—especially when I've earned the right."

"Earned it?" sneered Bogle.

"Yes, earned it," replied Sparwick, in a warmer tone. "I don't see how you kin deny the fact. I had a bargain with them two lads yonder to rescue their pardner, an' I was to receive a certain sum of money fur the work. Accidentally Raikes stumbled across us this mornin', an' I nabbed him. He had papers what showed up your little game. I could have blocked it as easy as rollin' off a log. Why didn't I tie Raikes to a tree, an' then push on here, and nab you, an' rescue the lad? You won't deny that I could have done it, an' made a heap of cash by the operation, too. But instead o' that I listens to Raikes. He says he'll take me in with you, an' give me twice the sum I was countin' on. So I agrees to it, an' we fixes the thing up. An' now this is the kind of treatment I get. It ain't fair an' square, Bogle, you know it ain't. An' what's more, I ain't a man ter be sat down upon. This here agreement will be kept, or I'll know the reason why."

Sparwick's face flushed with anger and indignation. He rose to his feet, and pounded the table with his fist.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

SPARWICK LAYS DOWN THE LAW.

Bogle and Raikes exchanged quick glances which Sparwick did not see. The latter was by far the tallest and strongest of the three. Doubtless this fact was taken into consideration by his companions.

"Keep cool," expostulated Bogle. "No need to fly into a temper. We want to discuss this thing peaceably."

"That'll suit me," said Sparwick. "I'm to have square dealing, then, am I?"

"Of course you are," assured Raikes.

"It depends on what you call square," hastily added Bogle. "I hope you'll look at it the same way we do. In the first place, Sparwick, you want to remember that Raikes and I have had all the trouble and expense of working this thing up. It was planned weeks ago; and look what we had to contend with before we got the lad in our hands. Would it be fair for you to chip in and demand a big slice out of our hard-earned reward?"

There was no reply. Sparwick gazed straight at the table. There was an expression on his face which his companions neither noticed nor understood.

"I see you are taking a sensible view of it," resumed Bogle. "To come right to the point, this is what Raikes and I will do: When the matter is settled and we lay our hands on the money, we will give you five hundred dollars—the original sum you had counted on getting. The condition attached to this is that you remain here while Raikes is in New York, and help me to guard these three lads. I'll admit that Raikes promised you a thousand dollars, but he did that before he had a chance to consult me. That's what I call square dealing. How does it strike you?"

Sparwick had meanwhile seated himself. Now he rose and leaned across the table. He shook his fist in Bogle's face. He glared at him with flashing eyes and quivering nostrils.

"Liar! skunk!" he snarled. "Yes, an' you, too, Raikes. You're a pair of cussed skinflints. You'd sneak out of your bargain, would you? You'd offer me a dirty five hundred dollars to help do your dirty work, while each of you pockets purty near five thousand? If you'd stuck to the thousand you promised, you'd have found me fair an' square. But now——"

Rage got the better of Sparwick. His right arm shot out and took Bogle on the face with such stunning force as to topple him over backward. He was quickly up again, with blood streaming from a badly smashed nose.

"Hit him, Raikes, hit him!" he cried, with an interlarding of trooper-like oaths.

But before Raikes could make up his mind, a backhanded blow caused him to turn a somersault over the bench. He was a plucky fellow, and as quickly as possible he was on his feet.

The boys felt like cheering. They waited in keen suspense for the end of the struggle. Would the result bring them freedom or captivity?

The next move on Sparwick's part was a sudden and unexpected one. He dodged Raikes from the rear and sprang upon the table. He jumped down on the other side and rushed toward the fireplace, his object being to seize the rifles.

His enemies knew this, and they did their best to checkmate him. Bogle thrust out his foot, and when Sparwick tripped heavily to the floor, he threw himself upon his back.

He was instantly reinforced by Raikes, yet the two together were less than a match for the big fellow; at least, when he was in such a desperate mood. Sparwick fought from underneath for a few seconds, dealing and receiving blows. Then he strained every muscle and rose slowly up, with his foes still clinging to him. He shook them off as a panther would scatter a pack of hounds.

Bogle fell in one direction, and Raikes in another. They had no desire to renew the struggle on the same terms. As soon as they could get to their feet, they sped across the room, and snatched two rifles from above the door. These Sparwick had not observed, but meanwhile he had captured a loaded weapon from over the fireplace.

This led, oddly enough, to a drawn game. On the very instant when Sparwick drew a bead on the foremost of his enemies, both Raikes and Bogle leveled their weapons straight at his breast. There was a brief and awful pause. Why neither party opened fire it is impossible to say. Some strange instinct stayed their hands.

"Put them weapons down," said Sparwick, in calm tones.

"Lower yours first," replied Raikes.

"Not likely," muttered Sparwick. "I can't trust two such lyin' skunks an' sneaks."

There was another pause. Then Raikes let the barrel of his weapon fall. Bogle instantly did the same.

"Your turn, Sparwick," he said, suddenly. "I'm a peaceable man, and would go a good deal out of my way any time to avoid bloodshed. So the thousand dollars is yours; I give you my word on it. It's not a square deal, though. You ought to have been satisfied with five hundred."

"That ain't my way of thinkin'," replied Sparwick, as he slightly lowered his rifle; "and as for the offer of a thousand, why, that's come too late. What I want now is five thousand, an' I'm going ter have it or bust this game."

This audacious statement made Raikes and Bogle fairly gasp for breath.

"Five thousand dollars!" screamed Bogle. "What do you take us for? Do you expect us to give you half of the whole sum?"

In his anger, he lifted his rifle again.

"Drop that," cried Sparwick. "If you do it another time, I'll put a bullet through you. I'm one against two, an' if it comes to a shootin' match, possibly I might get wiped out; but I reckon you won't kill me for fear of hangin'. An' I reckon you'll agree ter what I ask, since if you refuse, your game is up. I don't mean that you should give me half of the ten thousand. We'll go shares alike. Make the lad write them letters over ag'in an' change the figger to fifteen thousand. That will give us five thousand apiece. Make up your minds purty quick. I'm in the game fur full shares, an' I intend to stay."

It was evident that Sparwick meant every word, and would submit to no arbitration. He glanced calmly and aggressively at the two baffled rascals, conscious that he had turned the tables upon them.

Bogle glanced at Raikes, and in that glance was a subtle meaning, known only to the two. In a contest of wits and cunning, Sparwick was immeasurably their inferior.

"Your greediness will spoil the whole game," growled Bogle. "It's flying mighty high to ask ten thousand dollars. If we make it fifteen thousand, this lawyer will likely pitch us overboard and appeal to the police."

"The one amount would be paid as quickly as t'other," replied Sparwick. "To a man as well off as John Larkins is reckoned to be, five thousand dollars ain't anything. Is it yes or no?"

"It's yes," muttered Bogle. "It couldn't well be anything else, since you've got the drop on Raikes and me. We'll carry the thing out as you say. Only if they stick at the amount, you'll shoulder the blame."

"If the thing is well done, there won't be any stickin'," said Sparwick.

His aggressive manner disappeared as he stepped forward and laid his rifle on the table.

Raikes and Bogle did the same. Their faces assumed a good humored expression that seemed to say: "We are going to take our defeat gracefully." The next minute the three men were conversing on amiable terms.

It was now past midday. Raikes at once began to prepare dinner. Bogle and Sparwick overhauled the contents of the two sleds and stored the dishes and provisions away in the cupboard.

The meal was a good one, and well cooked. The boys were treated kindly, and given all they could eat. In spite of their unpleasant situation, they had keen appetites.

After dinner, writing materials were brought out, and Brick was called upon to rewrite the two letters. He demurred at first, but a few unpleasant threats and a glimpse of the narrow closet finally led to his yielding.

The steel bracelets were then locked upon his wrists again. Jerry and Hamp were also placed beyond the possibility of escape by having their arms tightly bound behind their backs with ropes.



CHAPTER XXIX.

A MIDNIGHT DISCOVERY.

About sunset something of a startling and unexpected nature occurred. Its effect on the inmates of the cabin was pretty much the same as if a bombshell had suddenly fallen in the midst of them.

Outside were heard crunching footsteps, and the rustle of dry bushes. Then a husky shout rang on the still, evening air.

The three men sprang to their feet. For an instant they were speechless with wonder and alarm. The intrusion had a different effect on the boys. They believed that it meant rescue and freedom.

Bogle snatched his rifle.

"Stay here," he whispered to his companions. "Be ready if I need you."

He went swiftly to the door and opened it. He closed it partly behind him as he stepped outside. Half-a-dozen feet from the cabin stood a vigorous-looking man of sixty, clad in the garb of a typical Maine hunter and trapper. His kindly face was grizzled and bearded. He carried a rifle over his shoulder. Bogle went swiftly up to him and held out his hand.

"I'll swear if it ain't Jack Mowry," he exclaimed.

The stranger glanced keenly into the other's face. Then he uttered a long, hearty laugh that came from deep down in his chest.

"By Jingo, it's Joe Bogle! Wa-al, wa-al, this beats anything ever I heard on. Why, man, I ain't seen you fur near three years—not since that winter on Moosehead."

"Oh! this is a sort of a shooting den that Raikes and I put up," Bogle hastily explained. "Raikes is with me, and we are just ready to start away. Where are you bound, Mowry?"

"That's jest what I'd like ter know," returned the trapper, as he shot a puzzled glance toward the cabin. "I hev a camp 'bout a mile north of the swamp, an' this mornin' I tracked a deer into this dog-goned tangle o' bushes. I lost my bearin's an' hev been wanderin' 'round ever since."

"That's hard luck," replied Bogle. "I'll tell you what I'll do now, Mowry. I can't ask you in to spend the night, because we are just leaving, and our provisions have run out. But I'll get a light and guide you back to your camp. I know every foot of the swamp. By the way, Raikes will be glad to meet you. You remember Silas, don't you? He was with you on Moosehead."

Without waiting for a reply, Bogle called aloud:

"Raikes, Raikes, come here."

As soon as Bogle went to the door, Raikes and Sparwick caught a glimpse of the stranger. Both recognized him at once, for he had long been a familiar figure in the Maine woods.

"I hope Bogle will know how to deal with him," muttered Sparwick.

"Trust Joe for that," replied Raikes. "I reckon I'll be needed in a minute. Suppose you attend to those lads yonder. They might make trouble and upset everything."

Accordingly Sparwick crossed the room and sat down at the foot of the bed.

"The first one of you that utters a sound," he whispered, savagely, "will get his face smashed. Mind that."

Under these circumstances, the boys were helpless. With tantalizing emotions they listened to the audible conversation outside. They heard Raikes summoned, and saw him hurriedly leave the cabin.

The next instant Bogle entered. He snatched up a lantern and a pair of gloves.

"That's right, Sparwick," he whispered. "Don't let those chaps utter a sound. So far we're all right. Raikes will be back in a minute."

Then he left the cabin and closed the door tightly.

It was only a few seconds later when Raikes returned. He called Sparwick over to the fireplace, and there they conversed in low tones until long after dark. Finally they prepared supper and unbound the boys long enough to allow them to eat.

It was nearly midnight when Bogle returned. His boisterous entry wakened all three of the lads, who had dropped asleep. They lay still, however, and pretended to be still sleeping.

"It took you long enough," grumbled Raikes. "How did you make out?"

"It was a matter of four miles each way," replied Bogle. "I'm lucky to get back so soon. As for making out—well, I'm afraid Mowry has his suspicions. It couldn't be otherwise. We didn't ask him in or offer him a bite to eat. He knew there was something back of it all. I went clear to his camp with him. He was grateful for that, but there was a sort of a chilling coolness about him."

"It's hard luck," muttered Raikes. "He's a nosey old chap, and may come spying around here, now that he's found the way. What had we better do?"

"I'll tell you," whispered Bogle, as he glanced across the cabin. Then he added, in a tone that did not reach half-way to the boys: "At daybreak you will start on your journey, Raikes. After dinner Sparwick and I will move boys, luggage, and all to the Rock House. You will find us there when you return."

"By Jove! that's a clever thought," said Raikes. "Mowry will be neatly tricked."

"Where is the Rock House?" asked Sparwick.

"You'll find out soon enough," replied Bogle. "There are places in these woods that you never dreamed of. And now let's turn in. We've talked enough."

"Yes, and I need sleep for to-morrow's journey," added Raikes.

As has been stated, this last part of the conversation was not overheard by the boys. They knew that it must be about matters of special importance. But they had no chance of talking it over among themselves. Their feigned slumber turned to real shortly after the men came to bed.

Raikes was up before dawn. He cooked himself a breakfast, ate it hastily and departed.

It was after nine o'clock when the boys got awake. They missed Raikes at once. Bogle was setting the table, and Sparwick was frying slices of venison. The boys were kindly treated during the day, but their arms were kept tightly bound, except at meal times.

They were now pretty much resigned to the situation. They knew that it was hopeless to think of escape or of preventing, by any means, the extortion of money from Mr. Larkins.

Brick, who by rights, should have been most concerned, was least so.

"Don't you fellows worry," he said. "My father will pay the money, and I don't suppose he'll mind it much. I'm only sorry that you should get into such a scrape on my account. But just as soon as the money comes we'll all be free."

This was but cold consolation. The day dragged along in so dreary and tedious a manner that the boys regarded a week or ten days of such captivity with the utmost horror.

The weather had moderated during the previous night, and in the middle of the morning a drizzling rain began to fall. So at dinnertime Bogle and Sparwick held a brief and secret conversation. As a result of this, they decided to postpone their removal to the Rock House until the following day.

Late in the afternoon the sky cleared, and the weather blew up cold again. At bedtime a stiff wind was howling around the cabin.

In the middle of the night Jerry got awake with a start. He felt restless and uneasy. The ropes on his arms pained him. He raised himself to a sitting posture and looked around.

Outside the moon was shining, and a few silvery rays crept through the crevices of the door and window-shutters. These, and a faint, rosy glow from the embers of the fire, shed a misty light on the interior of the cabin.

Next to Jerry, on the left, lay Hamp, and beyond him was Sparwick. On the right lay Brick and Bogle. Jerry was sandwiched in between the four. He looked at them intently. Their deep breathing indicated that all were asleep.

Jerry was about to lie down again when he heard strange sounds from outside the cabin. Slow, cautious footsteps crunched over the snow. Now they were on one side, now on the other. Then the door rattled slightly, and finally the shutters creaked.

Jerry's heart beat like a trip-hammer. His breath came short and fast. He was first inclined to waken his companions, but he fought the inclination down. He listened for a long time after the sounds had died away. Then an inspiration flashed suddenly into his mind.

"What a fool I was to be scared," he reflected. "I'll bet anything that old trapper was spying around here, trying to find out what mysteries are going on. I'm sorry now that I didn't shout at him. By this time he must have started back to his camp. If I could only escape! How easy it would be to follow his tracks over the snow! I'm sure he would help me to get Brick free."

As Jerry thus cogitated, he saw some object sparkling in the moonlight on the cabin floor. It was about half-way between him and the table. He looked keenly and now he discovered that the object was a knife.

A daring thought came into Jerry's head. A glance satisfied him that his four bedfellows were still sleeping. With a slow and noiseless motion, he crawled forward on his knees. From time to time he glanced warily over his shoulder. Finally his perseverance was rewarded.

He reached the knife. He leaned over upon it backward and managed to get the hilt between the partly-cramped fingers of one hand. With a clumsy, sawing movement, he scraped the blade over the rope that held his arms together. He was far from certain of success, but he stuck to the task with grim determination. More than once the blade slipped and cut into his wrists and fingers.

At last, when he was on the verge of despair, a sudden snap told him that the rope was severed. He drew his arms in front of him, and cut loose the separate pieces of rope.



CHAPTER XXX.

DRIVEN TO DEATH.

The first step to freedom was a success, and consequently Jerry felt greatly elated. He hesitated a moment, slightly bewildered by several expedients that suggested themselves to his mind. Then he picked up the knife and crawled noiselessly back across the floor.

He safely reached his sleeping place, and threw himself down in his former attitude. He lay perfectly still for nearly five minutes. Then he was satisfied that Bogle and Sparwick were buried deep in slumber. He turned around and gave Hamp a gentle shake. The lad stirred and sleepily opened his eyes.

"Hamp, are you awake?" Jerry whispered, softly, in his ear.

"Yes; what's up?" came the drowsy reply.

"Hush! don't talk so loud. I'll do the talking. Are you sure you're wide awake and can understand me?"

"Of course I am," whispered Hamp, a little impatiently.

Then he saw that Jerry's arms were free.

"You are in luck," he added. "Are you going to escape?"

"Yes; and I want you to go with me," Jerry replied, putting his mouth close to Hamp's ear. "I haven't time to explain now, only I found a knife and cut my arms loose. Turn yours this way a little bit." Hamp obeyed, and Jerry deftly severed the ropes.

"Now lie still until you see me open the door," he resumed. "That will be the signal. Then jump and sneak out after me. I want to get our caps and snowshoes first."

"Are you going to take Brick along?" Hamp asked.

"No; I wish we could. He is chained fast to Bogle. I wouldn't dare to try. But if we get away all right, Brick won't be a prisoner long. That old trapper was prowling around here to-night. We'll strike right for his camp. The tracks will help us to find it. You understand what you are to do now?"

"Yes; I'll be ready."

"Watch for the door to open," Jerry added. "Lie still, and don't make a sound. Better keep your arms under you, in case Sparwick should get awake. If he does, give a little cough."

"All right," whispered Hamp.

Having thus taken all possible precautions against failure, Jerry once more crawled noiselessly away from the bed.

When he was half way across the room, he ventured to rise to his feet. Then, bending low, he moved to and fro in search of what he wanted. He found the snowshoes and the caps without any trouble. He softly opened the cupboard and put some crackers and cold meat in his pocket.

He wanted a rifle badly, but they all rested on one pair of hooks, and he was afraid that he could not get one down without making a racket. So he reluctantly concluded to do without.

Jerry softly crossed to the door. He undid the fastenings and pulled it half-way open. He stopped on the threshold and looked back into the room. It was a moment of thrilling suspense. He saw Hamp rise slowly to his feet and take a step forward.

Then, like a flash, Sparwick's tall figure towered over the lad. There was a scuffle and a heavy fall. Two hoarse cries blended into one.

Jerry stood as one petrified. He heard Sparwick calling lustily for Bogle. He saw the latter spring to his feet, dragging Brick after him. Then Hamp's voice rang sharp and clear, in tones of entreaty:

"Run, Jerry! run! I'll hold him as long as I can."

This broke the spell. Jerry knew that Hamp was beyond hope of rescue. He dropped the latter's snowshoes, but held on to his own. He dashed over the threshold and into the moonlit clearing.

There was no time to look for the trapper's tracks. He remembered his saying to Bogle that his camp lay north of the swamp. Luckily Jerry had his bearings, and knew what direction to take.

He sped around the end of the cabin and plunged into the thicket. As he ran on and on, the tumult behind him faded away. The recent cold snap had formed a crust on the snow, and he made pretty good progress. Now and then, however, he struck weak spots and broke through to his knees. At the end of half-an-hour he ventured to stop. He seated himself on a log and strapped his snowshoes on securely. He was conscious of a feeling of elation. Not a sound could be heard but the rustle of the wind.

"I don't believe they know which direction I took," he reflected. "Anyway, I have a good start, and I mean to keep it. Once I find Mowry's camp, I will be all right. I can't afford to lose any time, so here goes."

He struck off again at a swinging gait. The snowshoes made traveling a delightful task. The moonlight was a great help to him. It shone into the gloomy recesses of the swamp.

At the end of two hours he passed from the confines of the swamp into a fragrant pine forest. There was a steep hill some distance in front of him. He might have gone to right or left, but he was not sure that he had kept unswervingly to the north since he fled from the cabin.

Jerry vaguely feared that he had lost his bearings It occurred to him that from high ground he might put himself right, or catch a flickering gleam of Mowry's campfire. So he toiled up the hill, never noting that his snowshoes left a plain imprint with every step. He gained a ridge and pushed along it for some distance.

But the undergrowth and timber were heavy, and he could not see far beyond them. He suddenly discovered that he was exhausted and worn out. He thought of climbing a tree to obtain an unobstructed view, but the effort seemed too great. He sat down on a snow-covered bowlder to rest. He was in a glow of heat and perspiration, and did not feel the cold. The silvery moonlight streamed upon an open glade in front of him.

The time sped by more quickly than Jerry knew. The keen, biting air roused him from a train of thought. He concluded to push on. He rose to his feet and stood debating which way to turn.

Before he could decide, a crashing noise in the bushes behind him sent a cold chill through his blood. He ran forward half-a-dozen yards and then turned his head. He was horrified to see Kyle Sparwick emerge from the bushes. The ruffian had a rifle in his hands. He drew it to his shoulder and took aim at Jerry.

"Stop right thar," he cried. "The game is up, lad. I've got you."

But Jerry did not stop. He melted away before Sparwick's indignant eyes. In other words, he dodged behind the trunk of a convenient tree. Thence he gained the cover of thick bushes, and made a spurt over the ridge.

No shot followed him. Indeed, Sparwick had not intended to shoot. His object was to capture the lad. He uttered a yell of anger and started in pursuit. His quick, loping gait soon brought him in sight of Jerry.

Then the chase became doubly exciting. Threats of shooting were freely uttered. But Jerry did not let these distress him. He was satisfied, by this time, that Sparwick had some good reason for not rousing the night echoes with a rifle-shot.

The lad was soon at his wits' end. He was more angry than scared. It was not personal injury that he feared. Recapture meant the destruction of his hopes, and he wanted badly to save Brick's father from paying fifteen thousand dollars to the rascally schemers. But he seemed doomed to failure. His enemy was rapidly and surely overhauling him. In desperation he picked up a short, thick billet of wood. He faced around and threw it.

The billet struck Sparwick's right arm and knocked his rifle to the ground. With a snarl of rage and pain, he stooped to recover it.

"You'll pay dear fur that when I git hold of you," he shouted.

This ruse allowed Jerry to gain a dozen feet, and gave him fresh hope and courage.

"Mebbe I can outrun him, after all," he thought. "If there was only cover enough to dodge and hide!"

But a moment later the ridge suddenly narrowed, and just ahead lay a huge, towering bowlder, crowned with pine trees. It jutted up sheerly, and Jerry knew that he had no time to scale it. He turned and ran to the left side of the ridge. There were tall, tangled bushes in the way, but he forced recklessly through them.

Then came a moment of frightful despair! The treacherous screen ended on the brink of a chasm. To draw back now was impossible.

Jerry's feet slipped over the edge. With a hoarse cry on his lips, he shot down—down into the misty, yawning depths of space.

Several minutes later Sparwick crept tremblingly to the verge of the precipice. With a white, scared face, he peeped over.

"Poor lad!" he muttered. "It's the end of him—a straight fall of not less than a hundred feet. He must be smashed to a jelly. Well, dead men tell no tales. I reckon the fifteen thousand is safe. I'd better be makin' tracks for the cabin."

He turned away with a shudder.



CHAPTER XXXI.

A FRIEND IN NEED.

It was an hour after dawn when Sparwick returned to the cabin. Bogle was up preparing breakfast. The boys lay on the bed with wide-open eyes. They were delighted to see that Sparwick had come back alone, but their exultation was quickly changed to deepest sorrow, when the story of Jerry's sad accident was told.

They pleaded with their captors to have Jerry's body recovered—a request that was firmly refused. After breakfast Bogle and Sparwick held a long and earnest discussion. Then, much to the amazement of the boys, they began to prepare for a journey.

"Where are you going?" Brick ventured to ask.

"None of your business," Bogle replied. "You'll know in good time."

"Come on! Lively, now," added Sparwick.

"I guess they're afraid that trapper will find poor Jerry and make trouble," Brick whispered to his companion, as they passed out of the door. "So they are going to hunt a safer hiding-place."

"That's about it," assented Hamp.

There was no chance to say more. A sled was given to each lad, and they dropped into line behind Bogle, who assumed the lead with a rifle over his shoulder.

In the rear came Sparwick, dragging the third sled and keeping a watchful eye on the prisoners.

All morning the little party tramped steadily to the east. At noon they stopped long enough for a lunch. Then they pushed on, through scenery of the most lonely and rugged description, until three o'clock in the afternoon.

A deep valley now lay before them. It was densely covered with trees and undergrowth. After traversing it for half a mile, Bogle turned toward the base of the hill. He pushed through a strip of heavy timber and huge, scattered bowlders.

A moment later the weary travelers were at their destination.

The Rock House was aptly named. It was a sunken depression in the base of the mountain—a sort of cave with an open front.

In a short time the place presented a cozy and cheerful appearance. The luggage was unpacked, and the red flames danced in the stone fireplace. Sparwick brought in a dozen loads of pine boughs and made a soft bed.

It was long past dark when supper was ready. In spite of their grief the boys were very hungry. They enjoyed the meal. Then Bogle ordered them to bed.

"You needn't think of escape," he said. "This place is harder to find or get away from than the cabin in the swamp. Make the best of things, and in good time you'll be free."

He strolled back to the fire and, lighting his pipe, sat down beside Sparwick.

The boys felt too wretched and heartbroken to sleep. In tearful whispers they talked about Jerry.

"I can hardly believe that he is dead," said Brick. "He was an awfully good fellow."

"No better ever lived," replied Hamp. "He was murdered, Brick. Sparwick drove him over that cliff. I'll never rest until both these scoundrels are caught and punished."

"Nor I," added Brick. "We'll devote our lives to it. It won't seem long now until we are free."

"But it takes a good while to go to New York and back from here," said Hamp. "Anyhow, will Raikes know where to find us now?"

"They must have left a message for him at the cabin," replied Brick; "or perhaps it was all arranged beforehand."

At this point Bogle and Sparwick came over to bed, and the conversation ended abruptly.

We must now return to the events of the previous night.

After shooting sixty feet downward from the top of the precipice, Jerry plunged into the bushy branches of a pine tree that jutted outward from a crevice in the wall of rock. He stuck for an instant, and then slipped through. He fell a farther distance of thirty feet, and landed in another pine tree.

This time the branches held him tight, and there he remained in a state of unconsciousness until daybreak.

About that time Jack Mowry, the trapper, happened along, in search of a brace of partridges for breakfast. Fortunately he glanced up and saw the lad.

The angle of the cliff was not so sharp at the base. It offered plenty of footholds. The trapper clambered up for ten feet. He reached the tree and succeeded in extricating Jerry, and getting him safely to the ground.

The trapper carried Jerry tenderly to his camp, which was less than half a mile distant—a cozy bark shanty in a wind-sheltered nook of the forest.

Mowry was one of nature's own physicians, and knew just what to do. After satisfying himself that no bones were broken, he rubbed Jerry vigorously from head to foot, and dressed his bruises and scratches. Then he rolled him in blankets and dosed him with hot drinks.

This wise treatment undoubtedly saved the lad's life, but it did not entirely counteract the effects of his fall and exposure to the bitter cold. He struggled out of his stupor to a sort of semi-consciousness. He talked in a rambling and incoherent manner, and tossed restlessly in a fever.

For two days he remained in this condition. Mowry tended him faithfully and constantly, never leaving his side for a moment.

On the third morning Jerry opened his eyes with a clear mind. He was puzzled to find himself in such surroundings. He remembered all that had happened up to the time of his fall. He listened with wonder to Mowry's explanation. He was startled to find out how much time had elapsed. Then, in an eager voice, he told the whole story from beginning to end.

The trapper was vastly indignant to learn of the rascality of his old associates.

"Of course I'll help you, lad," he declared. "I knowed suthin' was wrong when I run across the cabin, an' they didn't even ask me in ter warm my bones. An' that was me you heard outside that night. I was tryin' ter diskiver the mystery. I reckon I didn't git back until arter you fell, else I'd a' heard you screech. You see, I took a roundabout way so as to hide my tracks."

"Then we must act at once," replied Jerry. "If we don't, we won't save the money. Raikes may return from New York any day."

"Time enough, lad," assured Mowry. "The rascals think you're dead, an' they won't dream of leavin' the cabin. If you take keer of yourself ter-day, you'll be able ter tramp down to Kingman an' organize a party."

Jerry insisted that he was as well as ever, and wanted to get up. But an effort satisfied him that this was out of the question. So he submitted to the inevitable as patiently as possible.

Mowry fed him on nourishing meat and broth during the day, and by evening all traces of fever had left him.

A hasty breakfast was eaten in the morning, and the camp was put in order. Then Mowry and Jerry started on their long tramp. The trapper took a hand-sled with him, and whenever the level ground permitted, he gave the lad a lift. Thus the journey was robbed of half its fatigue, and Jerry was comparatively fresh when the settlement was reached late in the afternoon.

Kingman was a straggling bit of a place on the Canadian Pacific Railroad. The inhabitants were bluff, honest folk, and Mowry happily knew most of them. He accepted the proffered hospitality of the station agent for himself and companion.

The news quickly spread through the village, and by the next morning a party of armed men were ready to start for the cabin in the swamp. Jerry reluctantly consented to stay behind. He had to admit that he was not in fit condition to make the long tramp.

"Thar's one thing you'd better do while we're gone," said Mowry. "Telegraph to this here lawyer in New York ter have Silas Raikes arrested. It may save a heap of trouble."

The station agent favored this suggestion. But, unluckily, Jerry had forgotten the name and address. He finally concluded that the former was Glenwood. So, while Mowry and his companions were heading northward through the woods, a message sped southward over the wires, addressed simply, "Mr. Glenwood, New York."

It read as follows:

"Don't make any deal with the man from Maine who demands $15,000. Have him arrested at once. Particulars later. Answer."

The name of the station agent was attached. But noon brought no answer; nor yet evening. A second message was dispatched, and a third at midnight.

Morning came, and still there was no reply.

Jerry waited impatiently about the telegraph tower at the station. Then he went to dinner. As he and the agent were rising from the table, the operator arrived with a yellow paper. It contained the following reply from New York:

"Can't find the man. Lots of Glenwoods in the city. No lawyers of that name."



CHAPTER XXXII.

JERRY'S JOURNEY.

The agent was satisfied that a mistake had been made in the name, and Jerry was of the same opinion.

While they were discussing what had better be done, Mowry unexpectedly entered the house. He looked thoroughly fatigued and worn out. In a few words he told his story of failure. They had found the cabin deserted. The rest of the party were scouring the neighborhood. Then the trapper had started back at once.

"Somethin' hes scairt the rascals," he declared, "an' so they pulled out fur a safer hidin'-place. But I reckon the men will find 'em sooner or later. I thought I'd slip back with the news. How about the lawyer chap in New York? Did you git an answer?"

The telegram was read to him, and he scratched his head in a puzzled way.

"I don't put no faith in these pesky things," he said. "That there fifteen thousand dollars must be kept out of the hands of these derned rascals. I reckon thar's time enough. It would take about a week fur the lawyer chap to make terms with Raikes, an' get word across the ocean an' back. I'll bet Raikes is down thar in the city waitin'."

"Very likely," assented the agent. "If we had the lawyer's right name we could soon reach him."

"I don't believe it," exclaimed the trapper, in a scornful tone. "Telegraphin' ain't no account. Lad, you must go to New York by the fust train. I'll foot the bills."

"Me?" gasped Jerry. He could scarcely believe that he had heard aright.

"Sartin," resumed Mowry. "You're a bright lad, an' I reckon you'll know what to do. Go to this man Larkin's house, or to his place of business. Some one will tell you where to find the lawyer."

"Or you might get a city directory," suggested the agent, who evidently favored the plan, "and look over the names that are like Glenwood."

"Yes; and one of those is a good plan," replied Jerry. "I'm willing to go, and I think I will succeed."

"Thar ain't no doubt about it," declared the trapper. "You're an extry bright lad, from what I've seed of you. An', bein' brought up in Bangor, I reckon New York won't scare you. It's a leetle bigger town, from what I've heard."

Jerry and the agent smiled at each other.

"You must telegraph back what luck you have," Mowry went on. "An' when you've fixed things an' hed Raikes arrested, you an' the lawyer chap hed better come up here by the first train."

"Unless the boys are rescued in the meantime," added the agent. "We can let you know about that by wire. It's barely possible that Raikes is on his way back, so I will have all the stations in this vicinity watched."

"That's a good idee," approved the trapper. "He'll likely come right to Kingman, since this is the nearest point to the cabin. While the lad's in New York I'll go up country ag'in, an' see how them fellers are makin' out with their hunt."

After a further discussion of a few minutes, the matter was definitely settled. The agent brought his knowledge of the different railway lines into practical use, and the trapper produced the sum of fifty dollars from a dirty buckskin belt.

"That oughter last you, lad," he said. "I reckon the lawyer chap will pay me back one o' these days."

There was a train westward at two o'clock that afternoon, and when it steamed away from the Kingman station Jerry was among its passengers. He waved his hand at Mowry and the agent as long as he could see them.

Then the boy settled down in the seat, and tried to realize the wonderful thing that had happened to him. He was actually on the way to New York—the great city that Brick had described in such glowing terms. Already the past seemed but a shadowy dream. Had he actually lived through those stirring adventures in the Maine woods?

By degrees his mind grew more composed, and he settled his thoughts on the object of his journey. He was quickly roused by the arrival of the train at Mattawamkeag. Here he purchased a ticket to Bangor, and made connection with another train on the Maine Central Railway.

Jerry reached Bangor at five o'clock. There was no time to stop and see his parents, for a southward-bound train was ready.

The long journey came to an end at last. It was nearly midday when the train rolled into the Grand Central depot at Forty-second street. Jerry got out and followed the jostling crowd to the street.

Jerry stood for five minutes, not knowing which way to turn or of whom to ask information. Passersby jostled him roughly, and a policeman made a warning gesture with his club. This frightened Jerry. He was about to retreat to the shelter of the depot, when a tall, well-dressed lad, with a handsome, refined face, suddenly caught him by the arm.

"By Jove! is this really you?" he exclaimed, joyfully.

Jerry looked up.

"Tom Fordham!" he gasped.

The other laughed.

"That's who it is. I'm glad you knew me. I recognized you right away. I'm most awfully glad to see you, Jerry. But what under the sun brought you here? Hold on; come into the station. We can talk there."

He led the way to a comparatively quiet spot, and Jerry, nothing loath, poured out the whole story. Never was there a more surprised lad than Tom.

"I can't get over it," he exclaimed. "The idea of Brick getting into such a scrape. But we'll get him out, Jerry. It's awfully lucky that I met you. I was going up to Yonkers to see a fellow, but I'll drop that now. You see, it's holiday time, and college don't keep. I thought Brick would get you fellows to go into the woods with him. He promised to write to me, but he never did it. His running away made a big sensation. At first his guardian was mad about the money, and then he got worried, and——"

"You don't mean to say that Brick ran away?" asked Jerry.

"Oh! didn't you know it?" exclaimed Tom, in surprise. "I don't suppose I ought to have said anything about it, then. But come on. I'll take you downtown. Mr. Glendale is at dinner now. We'll go to his office later on."

So the two lads sallied out from the depot. What followed was like a fleeting panorama to Jerry, but it was a very dazzling and fascinating one.

At length, after a ride on the elevated road, they reached the City Hall. Through narrow Nassau street they walked, and then through to Broadway. Tom led his companion into a great stone building, many stories high.

The rode half-way to the top in an elevator. When it stopped, they got out and traversed a long corridor. At the further end was a glass door, and on this Jerry read:

"FREDERICK GLENDALE, "Law Offices."

Tom entered boldly, and Jerry followed.

The sole occupant of the front room was a young man who was bending over a typewriter.

"Hullo, Martin," said Tom. "Mr. Glendale here?"

"No; he left town yesterday morning."

"Do you know where he went?"

"Somewhere up north, I think," replied the clerk. "It's private business. That's all he said to me."

"Can you tell me if there has been a fellow named Raikes here to see him this week?" Tom went on, eagerly.

"Yes; pretty nearly every day. His last visit was yesterday morning. I think he has something to do with Mr. Glendale's journey. Can I do anything for you, Mr. Fordham?"

"Nothing," said Tom. "Much obliged, Martin."

He beckoned to Jerry, and they left the room. They did not speak until they were out on Broadway.

"Just a few hours too late," exclaimed Tom. "But we'll save the money yet. Now for the telegraph office. You must send a dispatch to Kingman. Then we'll catch the first express train to Bangor. I'm going up there with you to help get Brick out of the scrape."



CHAPTER XXXIII.

A TREACHEROUS PLOT.

In the Rock House one day was just like another. The time dragged slowly by. It was a period of indescribable misery and monotony to Brick and Hamp. When they were able to forget Jerry's fate they were tormented by fear for their own.

Nearly a week passed. Then, at sunset on a Wednesday evening, Raikes returned. Bogle, Sparwick, and the boys were squatted on the ground about the fire, eating supper.

Raikes responded to their greeting, and sat down beside them. His face told nothing, but there was a subdued twinkle of satisfaction in his eyes.

"Fill my plate, Sparwick," he said, "and give me a cup of coffee. I'm hungry as a bear."

"How far have you come?" asked Bogle.

"From Wytopitlock," was the reply. "It's a little station on the Canadian Pacific, a few miles east of Kingman."

Brick was unable to hold in any longer.

"Is it all right?" he exclaimed, eagerly. "Have you got the money? Are you going to let us go now?"

Raikes did not reply. Instead, a bewildered look flashed across his face. He had just discovered Jerry's absence.

"Where is the other lad?" he asked. "I hope you haven't let him get away."

Bogle briefly told the sad story. Raikes was visibly affected.

"I'm sorry it happened," he said. "I didn't want any bloodshed to be mixed up in this affair. Still, it was an accident, and the lad was to blame himself. We'll have to explain to Glendale that he escaped, and could not be found. You see, I told him that we had three prisoners to turn over instead of one."

"Then you have really made a success of your errand, Silas?" asked Bogle.

Raikes smiled as he took a deep draught of coffee, and attacked the food on his plate.

"I couldn't have done better," he replied. "Everything is fixed, and there is no danger of a slip. It took two or three days' work to bring Glendale to terms. He was pugnacious at first, and used some pretty rough language—talked about the police, and all that sort of thing. I told him to go ahead, and he saw that I couldn't be bluffed or scared off. After I convinced him that the lad's life depended on the payment of the money he came down gracefully."

"Did he cable to France?" asked Bogle.

"No; it wasn't necessary. He had money at his disposal, and he didn't want to alarm the lad's parents. The long and short of it is that Mr. Frederick Glendale is now quartered at a tavern in Wytopitlock, and he has with him the sum of fifteen thousand dollars in banknotes."

Sparwlck and Bogle fairly gasped for breath. Their eyes and flushed faces showed how excited they were.

"Five thousand apiece!" muttered Sparwick. "It's a fortune."

"What arrangements have you made for the transfer?" asked Bogle.

"We're to meet on Friday evening, three miles this side of Wytopitlock," replied Raikes. "Do you remember that big rock in Path Valley? It stands just where the stream comes tumbling down the mountain side."

"Yes, I know the place."

"Well, that's where we'll pocket the money and turn over the prisoners," said Raikes. "This is Wednesday. I'll spend the night here, and go back in the morning. You needn't start until early on Friday morning. You must be at the rock as near sunset as possible that evening. I'll have Glendale there in plenty of time."

"And Sparwick and I will do the same with the boys," replied Bogle. "The way you put this thing through does you lots of credit, Silas. We'll be well paid for all our trouble."

"It was cleverly managed, if I do say it myself," answered Raikes, as he went on with his supper.

By this time the boys were through. Their arms were tied, and they were ordered over to the bed. They crouched close together on the pine boughs, and discussed, in low tones, what they had just heard.

"It's not the loss of all that money that worries me," said Brick. "I'm thinking about poor Jerry. Don't forget that we swore to have the murderers punished—if it takes a lifetime."

"I won't," replied Hamp, in a husky tone. "We'll begin just as soon as we are free."

Finally the boys fell asleep. The three men sat about the fire, talking and smoking, until nearly midnight. Then they put fresh logs on the blaze, and went to bed. Bogle and Sparwick stretched themselves on one side of the boys, Raikes on the other. In a short time all were apparently sound asleep.

But Raikes was merely feigning slumber. From time to time his eyes opened, and shot a stealthy glance about the cave. At the end of an hour he sat cautiously up. He bent over the boys, and looked into Sparwick's face. The latter was certainly sound asleep. His eyes were closed, and his breath came deep and regular.

Raikes did not relax his scrutiny for nearly five minutes. Then he was satisfied beyond a doubt. He now bent in the other direction, and softly touched Bogle's face.

"Are you awake, Joe?" he whispered.

"Yes," was the reply. "I've been keeping awake on purpose. I thought you had something to tell me."

"Well, I have. I didn't get a chance all evening. I've got to be brief, so pay close attention."

"Hold on," whispered Bogle. "Is Sparwick sound asleep?"

"Sound as a rock," assured Raikes.

"Then, let's creep over to the fireplace, and talk there," added Bogle.

"No; he might get awake, and find us gone. Then he would be sure to suspect something."

"All right," assented Bogle. "Go ahead. I'm listening."

Raikes took another look at Sparwick and at the boys. Then he drew a tiny glass vial from his pocket, and slipped it into Bogle's hand.

"Take good care of it," he whispered, "and put it in a safe place."

"What is it?" asked Bogle.

"Chloroform," Raikes whispered. "I'll tell you how to use it. Some time to-morrow night wet a rag, and press it on Sparwick's face while he is sleeping. Then bind him tightly, and put a gag in his mouth. At daybreak start for the meeting place with the boys. You can easily manage them if you keep their arms tied. Glendale and I will be waiting. You and I will share the fifteen thousand dollars, and strike for a safe part of the country."

"Splendid!" whispered Bogle. "You're a born schemer, Silas. I thought you would find some way to outwit this greedy fool. But shall I leave him here to die of starvation?"

"We'll let Glendale or the boys send a party to rescue him," replied Raikes. "And as likely as not he'll spend the next two or three years of his life in jail. That's enough now. It's not safe to talk any longer. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly," whispered Bogle. "You may look for me and the lads at sunset."

This ended the conversation. Raikes lay down, and pulled the blankets over him. Not a sound could be heard but the steady breathing of the sleepers.

Had the fire been burning brightly it might have been seen that Sparwick's eyes were open. There was a devilish smile of mingled anger and triumph on his face. Under the blankets he savagely clinched his fists.

"It's a good thing I was listening," he said to himself. "A mighty good thing. I reckon I'll be ready fur these sneakin' liars."

He involuntarily gave a low chuckle as some pleasing thought entered his mind. This scared him. He listened for a moment. Then he closed his eyes, and began to snore.

The three men were up at the first streak of dawn on Thursday morning. After a hastily-prepared breakfast Raikes said good-by to his companions; and started for Wytopitlock.

An hour later the boys were roused and fed. If the previous days had seemed long, this one was ten times longer. Bogle and Sparwick looked forward to evening just as impatiently as the boys. They passed the time in smoking and talking, and appeared to be on the best of terms. Dinner time came, and the long afternoon dwindled slowly by.

After supper the evening seemed comparatively short. At ten o'clock all were in bed. Bogle did not chain himself to Brick, as he had always done heretofore. He allowed the lad's arms to remain tied behind his back.

"I need a good rest to-night," he explained to Sparwick, "and I won't get it with that confounded bracelet on my wrist."

"I reckon the lad's safe enough," muttered Sparwick, in a drowsy tone. He seemed to be half-asleep already.

Bogle stretched himself on the opposite side of the bed, so that the boys were between the two. He made no effort to keep awake, since he did not intend to carry out his instructions until toward morning. He dropped off to sleep in a very contented frame of mind. He straightway dreamed that the half of fifteen thousand dollars was already in his possession, and that he was enjoying life in a great city.

In the midst of his revels he awoke, and opened his eyes. For a moment he did not remember where he was. The embers of the fire shed a dim light, and showed him a man bending over him. He felt a strange hand groping in his pocket.

Then the situation suddenly flashed upon him. He recognized Kyle Sparwick, and knew intuitively that he must have heard the conversation on the previous night. Now he was seeking the vial of chloroform.

With a husky cry, Bogle pushed his enemy aside, and sprang to his feet.



CHAPTER XXXIV.

A VIAL OF CHLOROFORM.

Kyle Sparwick was taken quite by surprise. His back intercepted the light from the fireplace, and consequently he did not notice that Bogle's eyes were open until it was too late.