The Bungalow Boys in the Great Northwest

“Now!”

The rancher’s exclamation was followed by a sharp report, all the more deafening for the tiny space in which they were confined. Tom threw himself on his face, and so did the others, waiting a second and a more terrible shock.

But it didn’t come. For once in his life Chillingworth, who was rated a first-class shot, had missed his target.

CHAPTER XXII.

MUTINY

“Flunked!” choked out the rancher, with a bitter little laugh. He handed the pistol to Tom.

“Here, you try. I’m free to admit that I haven’t the grit to go through with it again.”

Tom took the pistol almost mechanically. His disappointment was as keen as that of the others. They had keyed themselves up to the last notch of courage and determination, it seemed, and now it was all to be done over again. No wonder that the Kanakas’ reserve gave way under the strain, and that they sat chattering hysterically as Tom dully examined the chambers of the revolver.

Right then he made a discovery that startled him. Their next attempt would be their last in very fact. Evidently Lake had been firing off his pistol before they set out for the hills – target practice was a common diversion of his, – and only two shells had been left in the chamber when Tom appropriated the weapon. Chillingworth had fired one, leaving a solitary cartridge undischarged.

Without another word – without even notifying them of his discovery, – Tom balanced the revolver for an instant in his hand, and then taking fair aim hesitated no longer, but pulled the trigger.

Hardly had his finger crooked before the sharp crack of the pistol was followed by another roar, infinitely more awful and awe-inspiring. A blast of hot gas swept back in their faces, and Tom felt himself being picked up bodily by some mysterious force and dashed against the rock. He realized no more. How much later he recovered his senses he did not know, but he opened his eyes to find daylight streaming into the cave.

Under the tremendously powerful forces of Professor Dingle’s explosive the great rocking stone had been, not blown to bits, but literally melted away. But this they did not find out till later. Tom’s first task was to arouse the others who lay in a semi-stupor all about him. He got the water canteen which had been brought with them and dashed some of its contents in his companions’ faces. Presently they began to stir. Except for a cut above the professor’s eye, where a flying stone had struck him, they were uninjured.

But the gases of the explosive had given them all splitting headaches, and as soon as they had recovered enough to be able to stand upright they hastened toward the glorious daylight which came pouring in – the daylight they thought they had forever bidden farewell to.

The storm had passed away, only distant grumblings of thunder remaining to tell of it. The sky was blue and clear once more. The lowness of the sun showed that it must be late in the afternoon. They must, therefore, have lain unconscious for some time. The first thing to be done was, of course, to make all haste away from the spot. A glance about them showed that by good fortune the ledge of rock remained intact. But at its edge, and quite close to them, lay a curious object which it was some time before they made out to be a rifle.

It must have been Simon Lake’s, and the weapon had probably been torn from his pocket by some freak of the same shaft of lightning that sent him to his death in the depths below. The electric fluid had actually melted the steel and fused stock, lock and barrel into one mass of molten metal. Tom shuddered as he thought of the shock that must have passed through Lake when the bolt struck.

A feeling of gloom came over the party, for base as Lake had been in life the manner of his death was surely a terrible one. Perhaps it was a retribution for his wild, lawless life. Tom at least felt that perhaps this was so. One thing was certain, the depths of the narrow rift would prove his sepulchre, for to have recovered his body from those profundities would have been impossible.

“Boss, me think me know um way to de cove wot bad man tell about,” said Monday suddenly, as they were discussing their next step.

“You do? Good boy!” cried Tom; “then lead ahead.”

“Yes, go in front,” said the professor, “but first tell us how you come to know anything about the path.”

“Long time ago, boss, as I tell you, me here in whaler,” said Monday; “captain he bad man. Beat me and Tuesday. Pretty soon we desert. We come hide up in here. Find plenty paths every place.”

Before many minutes they had climbed the steep flight of natural steps leading to the cliff summit, and stood there with a glorious panorama at their feet. At least the beauty was there to be enjoyed had they had the inclination or the opportunity to gaze upon it.

To the south lay the settlement. Its huts looked like tiny toys from that height, and at that distance. Between them and the settlement the dark gorge stretched forbiddingly, and beyond the gorge the eye rested on the endless wastes of greenish-brown thicket. All about was stretched the sea, and perhaps they did scan this rather more closely than they had the rest of the outlook. But if any of them had hoped to spy a vessel – as men will hope for vain things – they were disappointed. The vast stretches of ocean about them were as empty of life as a desert. Under the sun the waves glistened and danced as if in mockery of their helplessness.

“Well, what’s the course now?” inquired Mr. Chillingworth presently, with an assumption of cheerfulness.

“We will head through the bush under Monday’s guidance,” said the professor, “and find the boat which Lake mentioned as being moored in the cove. When we have found it we will row as close to the settlement as we dare and try in some way to secure food. But, of course, you do not need to be told that my main object in going there is to recover my boy. It was a grievous oversight not to have brought him with us; but it cannot be helped now. I think it only fair to add that if any one is opposed to my program that I will strike off alone when we reach the coast and the rest of you can take the boat.”

“As if we would!” said Tom. “No, sir, we’ll stand by you, and if we get recaptured trying to get your boy, why, we won’t be any worse off than we were before.”

“That’s right,” agreed Mr. Chillingworth, “we’ll stay with you till the finish, professor.”

As Monday and Tuesday had appeared to entertain no doubts as to their place being at the professor’s side, no more words were exchanged. A start was at once made down the rough path Monday declared would lead them in due course to the cove where the boat, which Zeb Hunt and Lake had used on their visits to the cave, was moored. After some time spent in laboriously traversing slippery rocks and pushing through thorny scrub, they emerged at length on the shores of a small cove.

Tom gave a shout as he discerned under some overhanging bushes the outline of a small white boat secured to the same clump which partially concealed it from view.

“The boat!” he cried. “So Lake did tell us the truth, after all.”

“Unfortunate fellow,” said the professor; “I am glad that almost his last words to us were not fabrications.”

The little craft was soon cast loose, and with the two pairs of oars found in her, the Kanakas made her fairly skim over the water. Although they were by no means out of their peril yet, and were tired, hungry and thirsty, the adventurers could not repress a low cheer as the boat forged forward. At least they had a good boat under them, and the ocean before them when once they had secured the professor’s little boy and a store of provisions.

The sun’s disc was almost dipping below the western rim of the sea as they emerged from the cove, and the Kanakas, keeping cautiously close to the shore, began to pull down the coast toward the settlement. By the time they were approaching a little wooded point jutting out from the main part of the island it was almost dark.

“Beyond that point lies the settlement, according to my calculations,” said Mr. Chillingworth. “I think our best plan would be to run the boat ashore at this side of the point and then clamber over the little neck of land. In that way we can see what is going on and how the land lies without exposing our lives unnecessarily.”

The others agreed with him that this would be the best course to pursue, so drawing the boat up on the beach, taking care that some trees sheltered it from view, they set out to cross the neck of land.

It was almost as rough traveling as on the trail, and in their exhausted condition it took them longer than it ordinarily would to attain the eminence. When they finally reached the summit, however, and were able to see the other side, they saw that Mr. Chillingworth’s guess had been right. The settlement lay at their feet. In the dim dusk the outlines of the big barnlike place where the Chinese were housed, towered up starkly. Out in the lagoon they could see the dark outlines of the schooner as she swung at her anchorage.

But as they gazed there came a startling sound: the sharp report of a pistol, followed by a regular fusillade of shots.

The uproar seemed to come from the centre of the collection of huts and shanties, and down toward the beach. While they stood gazing, dumb with astonishment at this new surprise, a tongue of flame flickered upward from one of the structures, and rapidly grew larger. The conflagration momentarily roared higher, crimsoning the sky and sea with a lurid glow.

“It’s the store!” cried Tom as he gazed at the raging fire, “something terrible has happened.”

“Mutiny and riot!” struck in Mr. Chillingworth, as a wild noise of shouts and yells and confused shooting was borne to their ears.

CHAPTER XXIII.

HEMMED IN BY FLAMES

“I guess that this is as far as it will be safe to come.”

It was Mr. Chillingworth who spoke. The little party had, by painfully creeping forward down the side of the jutting headland, managed to reach a position in the rear of the big shed which housed the Chinese under ordinary conditions. It now appeared, though, that it was empty. Doubtless its occupants had either fled in terror or had joined in the mad rioting.

From their point of vantage they had a clear view of all that was happening within the settlement itself, lit up as the place was by the glare-light.

They could see men rushing about the streets, if such the thoroughfares between the shanties could be called. The red glow of the flames shone on their faces, swollen and heated by the fire and excitement, and perhaps by liquor, too. For they could see where a group had gathered about a big cask and was broaching it freely.

“Good heavens,” exclaimed the rancher, “if they have started drinking what will happen?”

The professor uttered a groan. Anxiety for his boy was preying cruelly on him. He had all he could do to keep himself from rushing out from their hiding place and boldly demanding the lad, be the consequences what they might.

Hitherto, however, the counsel of the others had prevented his taking such a mad step. In the present mood of the men there was no telling to what lengths their folly might lead them. All felt that it would be dangerous to cross any of them for the present at least.

Suddenly a louder shout than the frenzied whoops and yells with which the mutineers had been making the night hideous, rent the air. It came from the neighborhood of the flames which were now dying down. Evidently something was taking place out of the ordinary.

“They’re coming this way!” shouted the professor presently; “what can have happened now!”

Nearer and nearer grew the babel of shouts. All at once, from around the corner of one of the huts appeared the figure of a man. He was running. Even at the distance at which they stood they could catch his sharp, quick breaths. Whoever the runner was he was almost spent. He carried some object in his arms, too. It looked like a sack of some sort.

Hardly had the figure appeared before around the corner in close pursuit of the runner there flashed a dozen or more forms. They were shouting wildly, and as they caught sight of their quarry they set up a yell.

“After him, boys!” came a shout from one of them.

“Kill the dirty dog!” came another yell.

“Yes, he is the cause of all our troubles, the beast!” screamed another voice.

“Good heavens, it’s Hunt!” cried Tom suddenly.

“And he has my boy in his arms!” shouted the professor the next instant. Casting all prudence aside, he dashed out of his hiding place toward the almost spent runner. Hunt ran staggeringly, reeling from side to side. He seemed to be wounded.

“It’s all up now,” groaned Tom, as he saw the lanky form of the scientist spring out.

“Well, I don’t know that I blame him,” said Chillingworth, “it’s his boy, you know.”

Tom nodded soberly, but made no verbal reply. His wits were too hard at work trying to devise something to do to get the professor out of his predicament, for, as the scientist had rushed up to Hunt and seized his boy from the red-headed mate’s arms, the frenzied mutineers had opened fire.

“Follow me! Quick!” shouted Tom, as he perceived the scientist’s danger. With the others close at his heels he dashed out with a loud “Whoop!”

He calculated on the effect of his wild cry and sudden appearance to check the onrush of the mutineers. It worked as he had expected. Stricken with astonishment they halted for an instant. But that instant was enough.

“Here – get in here quick!” shouted Tom as he grasped the professor and whirled him about. The next moment the scientist had been propelled by Tom’s strong young arms into the dark interior of the deserted Chinese barracks. An instant later his son followed him, and then came Tom with the Kanakas and Mr. Chillingworth who helped him in dragging Hunt’s limp form for the mate had collapsed as the professor seized the boy from his arms.

As they all got safely inside Tom slammed the big door to, securing it with a heavy bar which, to his great delight, he had found on the inside. This gave them breathing space and a chance to lay Hunt, who seemed to be badly wounded, on a pile of bedding in one corner of the place. The man lay there panting for a few minutes, and then opened his eyes.

“What has happened?” he demanded, and then he gasped out, “Oh, I know now. You caught me and dragged me in here. It was pluckily done of you, lad. But we are in a bad fix.”

“You think the mutineers will attack us, then?” asked Tom.

“Not a doubt of it. I don’t know how you come to be here, and there ain’t no time to ask questions, but I’ll tell you what happened soon after you left with Lake. A bunch of them fellers came to ther store and said they had decided that the time had come to make a general distribution of all the grub and then set sail on the schooner.

“Of course, I told ’em to go about their business, but they said that they was a committee, and that if I didn’t let ’em ransack the provision house there’d be trouble. It seems they thought that Lake was lying to them about there being little grub left, and that they had an idea there was plenty. Well, to make a long story short, when I refused to let ’em have the keys they went away grumbling. Nothing happened till sundown, when I shot down one chap I saw sneaking up to the back door of the place.

“That was the signal for the trouble that had been smoldering. They charged down on the place like a lot of angry wasps, and I grabbed up the kid and ran. I saw it was no use to make a fight. I hid in a disused hut till just now, when they routed me out. Through a crack I watched ’em loot the storehouse. All the time they was sayin’ what they’d do to me when they catched me. Pretty soon they found kegs of rum in the cellar, and then I knew it was about all over but the shouting.

“One feller suggests that they set the storehouse on fire when they’d got everything out of it, and presently I seen them touch a match to a pile of tinder and start the blaze up.

“I watched for a while and then figgered that if ever there was a chance of my escaping with the kid it was right then. So I crept out of the hut where I’d lain hidden. But as ill-luck would have it, just at that instant a bunch of them ran upon me. I started off in this direction, expecting every minute to feel a bullet in my back. The rest you know.”

All this time there had come no sign from the mutineers. Outside things had, in fact, grown quite quiet. Ominously so. It meant, according to Tom’s way of thinking, that they were hatching up some plan of attack on the big shed, and – not one of its occupants had any more dangerous weapon than a pocket knife.

Suddenly a voice outside hailed them:

“Ahoy thar! in ther shed!”

“Well, what is it?” shouted back Tom.

“Will you give us up Zeb Hunt?”

“What do you want to do with him?” asked Tom, while Hunt watched him with an agonized look on his rough features.

“String him up!” came the savage rejoinder. “Send him out here and you shall all get off without any bother frum us. But ef yer keep him thar we’ll make you sorry fer it.”

“You hear what he says,” said Tom, facing round on the others, “what shall we do?”

“We would be a fine lot of cowards to give this man up to them after he has saved my boy at the risk of his life,” said the professor.

“That’s what I say,” chimed in Mr. Chillingworth.

“So do I,” agreed Tom, while Hunt sank back with a breathed “God bless you!” It was the most fervent wish that had ever left those lips.

“Wall, what be you a-goin’ ter do?” came the voice. “The boys is gittin’ impatient.”

“You can’t have Hunt!” hailed back Tom in decisive tones.

“What!” roared the fellow outside, “think of what you’re a-doin’ of, youngster. It’s his life or yours – now kin we hev him?”

“Not in the longest day you ever lived!” shouted Tom, “now be off and do your worst.”

“No fear of that, younker,” the voice assured him; “look out fer squalls!”

“If only we had some weapons,” exclaimed Tom. He stepped over to Hunt, thinking that perhaps the man had a pistol on him. But Hunt, when addressed, did not answer, and Tom soon made out that he had swooned again. Striking a match Tom bent over him. The man’s shirt was blood-stained, and he had, apparently, been wounded in the shoulder.

“He’s got grit, anyhow,” thought Tom. “He never said a word about his wound.”

Tom would have liked to doctor him there and then, but that was out of the question. Before the hastily struck match had died out there was a wild yell from outside as the mutineers rushed upon the place. But if they expected the stout doors to yield they were mistaken. The portals shook and swayed under the onslaught, but they held firm.

After battering furiously upon them with blood-curdling threats as to what would happen when they did get them open, the mutineers gave over their fruitless task. Apparently they retired to talk over some other plan of attack.

This looked ominous. Enraged as they were by their failure to carry the place at the first assault, it was not likely they would risk a second failure.

“I hope they don’t think of making a battering ram,” thought Tom, “they’d have those doors down in a jiffy if they did.”

For some minutes thereafter they sat in silence, listening intently for some sound which might inform them of what the mutineers intended to do next. In the meantime, the half-famished refugees munched on some rice and bread they had found spread out upon a rough table just as the Chinamen had left it, apparently.

All at once Tom heard a queer sound – a sort of scratching, scraping noise at one end of the barn. It sounded as if something were being piled against it.

What could the mutineers be doing? Tom racked his brain in vain for a solution of the queer sounds for some minutes. Then he hit upon an explanation. It was such a horrifying one that every drop of blood seemed to leave his heart at the bare idea.

It was brush that was being piled against the barn from the outside. Such a thing could have only one meaning. The mutineers meant to set the place on fire.

Rapidly he communicated his fears to the others. But before they had time to formulate any way of facing this new peril there was the quick, sharp scratch of a match outside.

At the same instant a red glow shone through the chinks of the boards. As the flames rose higher, licking the sides of the barn, the mutineers broke into brutal cries and taunts.

“You cowards!” shouted Tom desperately; “do you mean to burn us alive?”

“Yes; you can all shrivel up like a bunch of rats or else come out and be shot!”

This utterance from one of the wretches outside was greeted by a chorus of approving shouts and yells. Tom turned despairingly to the others. As he did so the barn began to fill with smoke and hot sparks showered them. It was evident that they must soon adopt one of the alternatives hurled at them by the brutal mutineers.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE ROUND-UP. – CONCLUSION

As the hot breath of the flames grew more ardent, Hunt began to stir uneasily upon his couch. Suddenly the wounded man came out of his swoon with a shout. He sat upright, staring wildly about him, his blood-stained, wan face illumined by the flames. But after his first instant of confusion he perceived at once what had happened.

“The dogs!” he exclaimed, reeling to his feet, “they’ve set the shed on fire. But we’ll outwit them yet.”

Tom was at his side in an instant.

“You know a way by which we can get out of here?” he exclaimed.

Hunt nodded.

“It’s a good thing I come to when I did,” he said, “or we all might have roasted in here.”

He shuffled rapidly to the other end of the shed, and kneeling above a big, flat stone which apparently served as a hearthstone for an open grate, he pressed some sort of mechanism. Instantly, before their astonished eyes, the stone swung open, revealing a flight of steps.

“A secret passage!” cried Tom, while the others uttered exclamations of astonishment.

“That’s right,” said Zeb, with a grin, “and the best of it is that there are only two persons on this island that knows of its existence. One’s me, and tother’s Bully Banjo. We made it in case a revenue should drop in here some day. Then, d’ye see, all we would have had to do would have been to herd the Chinks through it and bring ’em out in the brush half a mile away. But we never thought that we’d have to use it to get away from our own men.

“By the way,” he said, gazing about stupidly under the pain of his wound, “where is Sim Lake?”

“I’ll tell you about that later,” said Tom, “the thing to do now is to get away. You go first, you know the way.”

Led by the wounded man they plunged into the dark abyss, the professor’s boy whining a little at the idea of descending into the dark, damp place. Tom came last, and he closed down the big stone behind them.

The passage was fairly commodious, and walking single file and slightly stooped it was not long before they reached the end of it and emerged in a clearing in the brush.

Looking around they could see behind them the red glare of the fire and the figures of the mutineers about it.

“They little think what a march we’ve stolen on them,” chuckled Tom as he gazed.

“I suppose the cold-blooded rascals are waiting for us to appear, or to see the shed cave in on us,” added the professor.

“Well, they will be disappointed this trip,” said Mr. Chillingworth, “but surely I am not mistaken. By some strange chance that passage has led us almost to the other side of the headland where we left the boat.”

A few seconds of reconnoitering proved that this was correct. They were, however, on the hillside above the headland, so that they could see down on the blazing building. It was not a great way to the water, and they soon emerged at the spot where they had left the boat. They found everything as it had been when they came away.

“Well,” said Tom, “I guess we had better get on board.”

“What is your plan?” asked the professor.

“Rather a desperate one,” rejoined Tom; “but it is the only thing I can think of. We can’t put to sea without provisions or water, that’s certain. Now, on the schooner we can find both. She is unguarded, and the only risk we run is being seen from the shore.”

“By Jove! that’s a great idea,” cried Mr. Chillingworth. “As for being seen from land, I don’t think there is any serious danger of that. Those rascals are all too busy about their own devices.”