  In full career, the caravan pitched and creaked like a ship in a heavy sea. Jake clung grimly to the wheel, expecting each minute to hear another rain of lead rattle about his ears; but he doggedly notched the little car to its highest speed, holding her to the road. Old Jerry had done it! In another minute they would have been bagged without a struggle, but Jerry had given them the only chance for freedom in sight. It would take their hunters some time to locate the keys of the big car, turn it around, and pursue the van. A few minutes leeway might do wonders! “Stop, stop, ye fool!” A man with a badge on his lapel was waving his arms wildly in front. Jake shoved on more gas; the man who had sought to stop them leaped blindly for his life, and they passed him in a cloud of dust. How far could they get at this rate? Jake leaned back and shouted, “All right, Burk? ’Fraid we can’t get far, unless we get out of this bus pretty quick.” Burk’s head appeared in the opening. Jake did not dare turn around, and so did not see that his partner’s face was drawn with pain. “It’s—no use, I guess, old man.” “Why, we’ve been in worse places than this! Soon as we get a bit farther along, we’ll hop out and take to the hills again!” Burk shook his head. “We can’t make it. Only thing to do is—pull up and wait for them.” “Come, Burk,” Jake protested; “we’re not far from Canoe Mountain now! We’ll desert this car and run for it again!” “Can’t do it, son. Not a quitter—but I couldn’t run very far. Some of that shot caught me in the leg. I—I——” “What?” Jake shoved on the brake, and the caravan rattled to a standstill at the side of the road. He scrambled through the curtain, and stared at Burk’s blanched face. “Let me see—did they get you bad? I didn’t stop to think they might—— It was that fellow Diker with them; I knew him right off.” He was rolling up the corduroy trousers on Burk’s right leg as he spoke. “Whew! Looks bad; right in the calf of the leg. But it might be worse. Do you see anything around I could use for a bandage?” Burk shook his head again. “Don’t bother. The prison people will be along in a minute, and they’ll take care of us. Too bad it had to break this way; why, we can see Canoe Mountain from here.” “How far is it?” Jake’s tone was filled with eagerness. “Only about five miles to the lodge. You take the road that leads out from Apple Hill, just a little ways down here a piece. At the top of the first mountain, you turn right on a short lane that goes straight to the lodge. But why?” “Listen,” said Jake Utway swiftly; “can I leave you here all right? I can see your wound is pretty bad, and you couldn’t walk a step with that leg; but I’m still lively enough. We’re not licked yet. I’m going on!” Jake peered out the back of the caravan. Their enemies were not in sight yet. Burk waved his hand in feeble protest. “The game’s up, old fellow. What could you do at——” “I don’t know, Burk. But I’m going anyway. I want to have a look at that hunting lodge of yours. The prison bunch will take care of you I know. Now, before I leave you, tell me—have you been able to remember anything about where you might have put that necklace?” The man groaned softly. “I’m afraid not. I’ve tried and tried—but I guess it’s hopeless.” There was not a minute to waste. Jake jumped to the ground. “So long, Burk! I’ll be seeing you again. Cheer up!” he called gently, and began hiking at a fast gait up the road toward the little village of Apple Hill. A forlorn hope, if there ever was one, Jake Utway told himself as he hastened toward the nearing cluster of houses that marked the crossroads town. Of the four of them who had faced the new day in heartsome spirits, he alone was the only one still uncaught. First Sherlock, then Jerry, and now Burk—one, two, three!—one after another they had sacrificed their liberty in order that the venture should go forward. And it should go forward, to the very end, Jake promised himself. Canoe Mountain or bust! It was part of playing the game, to keep on and on toward the goal, as long as breath was left to struggle ahead—— A boy in overalls was riding slowly toward him on a bicycle. Jake halted and waved his arm at the oncoming lad, who pulled to a stop, and eyed him suspiciously. “Hello, kiddo,” smiled Jake. “Where do you live?” The boy scuffed the toe of his shoe into the dirt beside the road, and gaped with open mouth before answering. He jerked a grimy thumb to the right. “Yonder.” “Want to make some money?” The boy’s eyes widened. “Huh?” “I said, do you want to make a little extra money? Listen; I have to go somewhere pretty quick. Lend me that bike of yours for a couple hours, and I’ll pay you.” “Naw.” Jake fished in his pocket and pulled out all the cash he had been able to bring with him. “Look! There’s almost four dollars there. Four bucks, just for letting me ride your old bike for a little while! I promise to bring it back in good shape.” The farmer lad shook his head. Jake jingled the money in his palm. “You won’t have another chance to make money this easily!” The boy pointed a finger at Jake’s scout knife, which he had drawn from his pocket with the money. “What kinda knife’s that?” Time was getting short. “That’s a swell knife—look at all the blades it’s got,” said Jake desperately. “Tell you what—I’ll give you the knife and all this money too, if you let me borrow your wheel for just an hour or two!” The added attraction of the knife was enough to sway the smaller boy’s mind. He snatched it and the coins from Jake’s hand, and then slowly climbed down off his bicycle. “You’re making a good swap, kid,” said Jake, gripping the handlebars. He was surprised to find that the boy, as though he had suddenly changed his mind, was clinging to the bicycle with determination. “Say, what’s the matter?” The boy shook his head. A thought had just occurred to him. “How do I know you’ll bring it back? Maybe you’ll bust it, or I’ll never see you again!” Jake’s patience was rapidly giving out. “Look here!” he said. “You haven’t got sense enough to take my promise. Well, see this mackinaw I’m wearing? It’s a good coat, and worth two or three measly bikes like this one!” He slipped off the garment, and held it out. “Here, take it. You can keep that until I bring your bike back safe, just to show you I’m not trying to steal anything. Do you get that?” The boy looked at the coat, then at the money and knife in his hand. Jake tucked the coat under the lad’s arm. “All right. You keep the mackinaw, and in a little while I’ll bring this back to that red house over there—that’s where you live, isn’t it?—and get back my coat.” Before the boy could change his mind or offer further objection, Jake climbed into the saddle and began pedalling down the road toward Apple Hill. He had not gone far when he heard a shout behind him, as if the boy had already doubted the wisdom of his transaction; but he increased his speed, and was shortly amid the houses of the town. He found the road to Canoe Mountain without any trouble, and speeded off to the westward. Only a few miles away the low blue line of the hills, bristling with pine and spruce trees on the skyline, pointed his goal. About half a mile after he had left Apple Hill behind, the asphalt paving ended, and the road became a dusty and rutted stretch of dirt. A fine powder, stirred up by his progress, settled on his clothing, coated his face and choked his nostrils. Yet he kept on, pedalling as hard as he could go. Some three miles on his way, he came to the span of a concrete bridge, which carried the road across a slowly-moving stream. Jake dismounted, and wheeled the bicycle beneath the bridge, where a grassy bank spread invitingly in the sunshine of the late afternoon. It was warm there, and restful.... He needed a bit of rest, to get his breath back. Jake stretched his limbs out luxuriously. His hunger made him feel a little light-headed. He closed his eyes for a moment to shut out the bright sun. Burk—Jerry—the prison guard—hungry.... He awoke with a start. It was late. The sun was almost down, now; there was a misty chill in the air beside the slowly-gliding brook. He jumped up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. What had happened? The bicycle lying at his side brought his memory back again. For several precious hours he had been sleeping; he could have been at Canoe Mountain Lodge by this time! Hurriedly he pulled together his scattered wits, and climbed to the road. The coast was clear. He pushed the bicycle up the embankment, mounted, and once more was riding toward the hills that loomed darkly before him in the dusk. Timberlands began to line the road now. Night was dropping its curtain over the countryside; lights twinkled in far-off farmhouses in the valley. He was soon aware that the road was rising steadily; he was on the mountainside, surrounded by dark thickets and ghostly trees; an uncanny, haunted feeling came over him. He could hardly see the road before him; he felt for his flashlight, and smothered an exclamation. He must have left his light in the pocket of his mackinaw, now in the possession of the boy back at Apple Hill. The road was now too steep for riding; all the strength of his muscles could not drive the machine forward. He jumped off, and began a slow trudge upward, trundling the bicycle beside him. It took him fully half an hour to reach the summit of the mountain. The hunting lodge could not be far away now. If his venture was a wild goose chase, at any rate that chase would soon be at an end. The weariness of his journey had blotted out all sense of reality; he did not even think of the hopelessness of burglarizing a strange house and searching there for evidence of an incident which had happened more than twelve months ago. His feet sounded hollowly on some sort of wooden steps. They must lead up to the door of the lodge! He leaned his bicycle against a rustic railing, and stumbled wearily across the resounding boards of a porch. If only he had his flashlight! But no matter—— This must be the door. His hand sought out the latch, and he started back in surprise. It was open! Could anyone be within? But no, there were no lights showing anywhere about the place. Some carelessness, no doubt. He pushed lightly on the door; it gave before his hand, and he stepped over the threshold, into a room. Jake Utway tried to scream, but a lump had risen in his throat, and he could not get the words out. In a far corner of the strange room a red coal, like a cigar-end, glowed and died. A freezing paralysis of fear ran down his spine; in his ears pulsed loudly the pounding beat of his heart. “Come right in, son,” said a voice that was horribly jovial. “You’re a bit late. But you’ve come at last.” The door slammed behind him like the crack of judgment. Some heavy body had thrown itself against the panels, and now stood ready to bar his way. All the hazardous escapes of his flight from Lenape had been of no avail. From this last, dark trap there was no escape. |
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