Tom Fairfield's Hunting Trip: or, Lost in the Wilderness

“No road here,” Tom said. “Let’s try some other route.”

“Say!” cried Jack. “What’s the sense of all four of us going in the same direction all the while? Why not try four ways at once? The one who finds the road can fire two shots in quick succession. The rest of us will then come to where we hear the shots.”

“A good idea!” commented Tom. “We’ll try it. Scatter now, and don’t go too far. Oh, you’re coming with me, are you, Towser?” for the dog followed him, evidently considering Tom his master.

The four boys now set off in different directions, and soon were lost to sight of one another in the storm. Tom was sure he was going the route that would take him to the road. He pressed on eagerly.

The dog ran on ahead, and disappeared.

“He’s fond of taking a lot of exercise,” was Tom’s mental comment. Then he saw some bushes, just ahead of him, being agitated and he went on: “No, he’s coming back. Maybe he’s found something.”

Suddenly the bushes back of Tom parted with a crackling of the dry twigs. The lad thought perhaps it was some animal stirred up by the dog, and he was advancing his gun, to be in readiness, when he felt, all at once, something cover his head. He was in blackness, but he could tell by the smell that a bag had been thrust over his eyes.

“Here. Quit that! Stop!” yelled Tom, and then his voice ended in a smothered groan. Something like a gag had been thrust between his lips and he was thrown heavily.

For a moment Tom’s senses seemed to leave him. He could see nothing, but he felt that he was being mauled. He had a momentary fear that it might be a bear. But, he reflected, bears do not throw sacks over one’s head, nor gag one. It must be men – but what men?

Vainly Tom struggled. He felt his hands being tied – his feet entangled in ropes. He fought, but was overpowered. Then he heard a voice saying:

“Well, we’ve captured him, anyhow.”

“Yes,” agreed another voice, and Tom vainly wondered where he had heard it before. “Yes, we have him, and now the question is, what to do with him.”

CHAPTER XX

A PRISONER

Tom was in sort of a daze for the first few moments following the unexpected and violent attack on him, an attack culminating in his being bound so that he could hardly move.

Dimly, and almost uncomprehendingly, he heard voices murmuring about him – he could hear the voices of men above the howl of the gale that seemed to continue with unabated fury.

Gradually Tom’s senses cleared. The haze that seemed to envelope his mind passed away and he began to realize that he must not submit dumbly to this indignity. He first strained lightly at his bonds, as if to test them. The sack was still over his head, so he could not see, and there was a horribly stuffy and suffocating feeling about it.

Tom’s effort to loosen his bonds, slight as it was, had the effect of starting his blood up in a better circulation, and this helped him to think better and more quickly.

“I’ve got to get out of this!” he told himself energetically. “This won’t do at all! I wonder who the scoundrels are who have caught me this way?”

But Tom did not stop then to argue out that question. He wanted to devote all his time to getting himself loose. With that in view, he put forth all his strength. He was lying on his back, in a bank of snow, he judged, and he now strained his arms and legs with all his might.

But he might just as well have saved his strength. Those who had tied the bonds about him knew their evil business well, and poor Tom was like a roped steer. Not only was he unable to loosen the bonds on his arms and legs, but he found the effort hurt him, and made him almost suffocate, because of the gag and the closeness of the bag over his head.

Then he heard voices speaking again.

“He’s coming to,” said someone – a vaguely familiar voice.

“Yes, but he’ll have to come a great deal harder than that to get away,” was the answer, and someone chuckled. Tom wished he could hit that person, whoever he was. His gun had either fallen or been knocked from his hand at the first attack.

“Well, what are we going to do with him?” asked the voice that had first spoken.

“Wait until – ” but the rest of the sentence Tom did not hear, for the wind set up a louder howling at that point, and the words were borne away with it. Then, too, Tom was at a disadvantage because of the bag over his ears.

He felt himself being lifted up, and placed in a more comfortable position, and he was glad of that, for he felt weak and sick. It must be remembered that aside from a little coffee that morning, he had had no breakfast, and that he had had little or no sleep the night before. With a scant supper, a battle with the storm, the anxiety about being lost, and having led his friends, unconsciously enough, into a scrape, it was no great wonder that Tom was not altogether himself.

“But who in the world has captured me, and what do they want of me?” Tom asked himself. He had an idea it might, perhaps, be some of the half-breed Indians who had caught him for the sake of his gun and clothing. Or perhaps some trapper or guide was guilty.

But if they were after his gun, or what money he carried, or even the fine mackinaw he wore, why did they not take those things and make off into the woods? That would at least leave Tom free.

But the men remained on guard over the bound figure of the boy, now sitting upright on a bank of snow. Tom could dimly hear them moving about. They were evidently waiting for someone.

“But if they wait long enough, the fellows may come to look after me,” Tom reasoned. “Jack, George, and Bert will know how to deal with these scoundrels.”

Then he reflected that the other lads would not know where he was unless he fired his gun, and he could not do that. If one of the others – Bert, Jack or George – found the road, they would not know where Tom was.

“Unless the dog could lead me to them, or them to me,” he mused. “I wonder where Towser is, anyhow?”

Tom’s last view of the animal had been when it darted into a bush, after some rabbit, perhaps. Then had come the sudden attack. If the dog had returned, Tom did not know of it. He only hoped the animal would “raise some sort of row,” as he put it.

But there was no evidence of Towser. Tom could hear only the now low-voiced talk of two men, and the rush of the wind. That it was still snowing he was quite sure, and he wondered what his companions were doing.

Suddenly he became aware of some new element that entered into his predicament. One of the men exclaimed:

“Here he comes now!”

“That’s good!” responded the other, and there seemed to be relief in his tones.

“I didn’t see anything of him,” called the newcomer. “I saw the others – they’ve separated, all right, but Fairfield – ”

“He’s here! We’ve got him!” was the triumphant rejoinder of one of the men near Tom. “Got him good and proper!”

“You have! That’s the ticket. Now we’ll see what the old man has to say. I guess he’ll pony up all right.”

Tom felt a shock as though someone had thrown cold water over him.

That voice!

Tom knew now. It was Professor Skeel.

He began to understand. He saw the meaning of many things that had hitherto puzzled him. The vagueness was clearing away. The plot was beginning to be revealed.

Was this why Skeel had come to the wilderness of the Adirondacks? Was this why he and his cronies had been sneaking around the camp cabins? It seemed so.

“And yet, what in the world can he want of me?” Tom asked himself. “If it’s revenge for what I did to him, this is a queer way of showing it. I didn’t think he’d have spunk enough to plot a thing like this, though he certainly has meanness enough.”

Tom was thinking fast. He was putting together in his mind many matters that had seemed strange to him. Certain it was that at Skeel’s instigation he had been made a prisoner, and probably with the help of Murker and Whalen, though Tom had not seen their faces clearly and could not be sure of their identity.

“But what’s it all about?” poor Tom asked himself over and over again. “Why should he make a prisoner of me?”

“Can we carry him?” asked Skeel’s voice. “We’ve got to take him to the old shack, you know. Can’t leave him here. Besides, there’s some business to attend to in connection with him. Can you carry him through the snow?”

“Sure,” was the answer. “He isn’t so heavy. Up on your shoulders with him, Whalen, and we’ll follow the professor. I’m all turned about in this storm!”

Tom was sure, then, of the identity of his three captors. He was as sure as though he had seen them.

A moment later he found himself being lifted up, and he could feel that the men were adjusting him to their shoulders. It was no easy task, for Tom was rather heavy, and his clothing, for he was dressed warmly for the cold, made an additional burden. But the men were strong, it seemed.

“Shall we take that off?” asked one of the men. Tom had an idea he referred to the head-covering bag.

“No, better leave it on until we get farther off. Some of the others might see him,” was Skeel’s answer. Tom felt sure he referred to the bag.

“I wish they’d take this gag out of my mouth,” Tom mused. “I don’t care so much for the bag. But my tongue will feel like a piece of leather in a little while.”

On through the storm Tom was carried, on the shoulders of the two men. In fancy he could see the former instructor leading the way.

“He spoke of the old shack,” mused Tom. “I wonder if he means the deserted cabin where we were? If he takes me there, the boys will have a better chance of finding me if they look.”

But Tom was soon to know that it was not to the deserted hut he was being carried. For the journey soon came to an abrupt termination. The young prisoner felt himself being carried into some building, for he was lowered from the men’s shoulders.

“They never could have reached the old cabin in this time,” Tom decided to himself. “They must have brought me to some new place. I wonder what will happen now?”

Tom felt himself laid on some sort of bed or bunk. Then he heard a door closed and locked.

“Well, we’ve got him just where we want him,” said Skeel. “Now we’ll go ahead with our plans.”

And the prisoner wondered what those plans were.

CHAPTER XXI

SKEEL REVEALS HIMSELF

“Shall we loosen him up now?” asked the voice of one of the men. Tom could still see nothing, as the bag remained over his head.

“Yes, take off the headgear, and ungag him,” answered Skeel. “It won’t matter if he does holler up here. No one will hear him. But keep his hands tied, except when we feed him.”

Tom felt a sudden sense of elation in spite of his most uncomfortable position. At least he was going to get something to eat, and he needed it, for he felt nearly famished.

“Is the door locked?” asked one of the men.

“I attended to that,” was Skeel’s answer. “He can’t get away from here.”

“We’ll see about that,” mused Tom. “I’ll have a good try, at any rate, the first chance I get.”

He felt the fastenings of the bag being loosed, and when it was taken off, he looked about him quickly. The first glance was enough to tell him, if he had not already been sure of it, that he was in some shack where he had never been before. This was not the deserted cabin where he and his chums had spent the night. Tom glanced toward the windows, hoping to get a glimpse outside so he might determine his position, but there were dirty curtains over the casements.

His next glances were directed toward the men themselves, though he was already sure, in his own mind, who they were. Nor was his judgment reversed.

There stood Skeel, a grin of triumph in his ugly face, and there were the two other men, of evil countenance, whom Tom had seen with the erstwhile professor.

“We’re going to take the gag out of your mouth,” said Skeel to his prisoner. “We don’t want to hurt you any more than we have to, but we’re going to have you do as we say, and not as you want to. You can yell, if you like, but you’ll only be wasting your breath. This is a good way from nowhere, up here, and you won’t be heard. You can’t get away, because one of us will be on guard all the while. I tell you this to save you trouble, for I know you, and I know that you’ll make a row if you possibly can,” and Skeel stuck out his jaw pugnaciously. He and Tom Fairfield had been in more than one “row” before.

“Take it off, Murker,” the former instructor said to the worse-looking of his two helpers. “Let’s see if he’ll yelp now.”

It was a relief to Tom to have the bunch of not overly-clean rags taken from his mouth. His tongue and jaws ached from the pressure and now he sighed in relief.

Tom Fairfield was not foolish. He had already made up his mind to do all he could to circumvent the plans of the plotters, and he was going to begin as soon as possible. He did not altogether believe Skeel when the latter said that shouting would do no good, but Tom did not intend to try, at once, that method of getting help.

He wanted to rest his throat from the strain, and he wanted to see how best to direct his voice in case he did feel like shouting. He had no doubt but what if he cried out for help now, the gag would be put back in his mouth. And that he did not want. He wanted to eat, and oh! how he did long for a drink of cold water.

“Guess he isn’t going to yap,” murmured the man known as Murker.

“So much the better,” said Skeel. “Now you can loosen those ropes on his legs. He can’t get away.”

Tom wished, with all his heart, that they would loosen the bonds on his hands and arms, but he stubbornly resolved to stand the pain those cords gave him, rather than ask a favor of any of the trio of scoundrels.

He simply could not endure his thirst and hunger any longer. He tried to speak – to ask at least for a glass of water, for the men could not be so altogether heartless as to refuse what they would give to a dumb beast. But Tom’s throat was so parched and dry that only a husky sound came forth.

“Guess he wants to wet his whistle,” suggested Whalen.

“Well, get him a drink then,” half-growled Skeel. “Then we’ll talk business.”

Tom thought nothing ever tasted so good as that draught of water from the cracked teacup one of the men brought in from another room, and held up to his lips. It was better than nectar ever could be, he was sure.

“How about a little grub?” asked Murker.

“Oh, he could have it, I guess,” Skeel replied. “Guess they didn’t any of ’em have much. They were away from their camp all night, you say, and there wasn’t anything in the old shanty.”

“That’s right,” assented Whalen.

Then Tom realized that he and his companions had been spied upon, just as Jack had so strangely suspected. They had also been followed, it was evident, for the men knew of the movements of himself and his chums.

“I meant grub for all of us,” went on Murker. “I’m a bit hungry myself, and it’s about time for dinner.”

“All right – get what you want,” assented Skeel. “And give him some. One of you can sit by him, and take off the ropes while he eats. But watch him – he’s like a cat – quick!”

Tom felt like smiling at this tribute to his prowess, but he refrained. It was no time for laughter.

“I’ve got a bit of writing to do,” Skeel went on. “You fellows can eat if you like. I’ll take mine later.”

“All right,” assented Whalen. “But what about – well, you know what I mean,” and he rubbed his fingers together to indicate money.

“I’ll attend to that,” said Skeel, a bit stiffly. “You mind your own affairs!”

“Oh, no offense!” said Whalen, quickly. “I only wanted to know.”

“You’ll know soon enough,” was the retort, as the former teacher moved toward another room.

“Well, I’m in on this too. Don’t forget that!” exclaimed Murker, and there seemed to be menace in his tones.

“Oh, don’t bother me!” answered Skeel, apparently a bit irritated.

Evidently the feeling among the conspirators was not as friendly as it might have been. It was very like a dissention, and Tom wondered if the truth of the old adage was to be proved, “When thieves fall out, honest men get their dues.”

“I hope it proves so in my case,” Tom reflected. “But first I would like something to eat. And I wish the others had some, too. I wonder where they are now, and what they think of me?” Professor Skeel went into another room, and closed the door after him. Murker also went into another apartment – there seemed to be three rooms, at least, on the first floor of the cabin – and presently the evil-faced man came back with a platter on which were some chunks of cold meat and bread. It looked better to Tom, half famished as he was, than a banquet would have seemed – even a surreptitious midnight school-feed.

“Help yourself,” growled Murker, as he set the platter down in front of Tom, on a rough table, and loosed the bonds of our hero’s arms.

“Guess I’ll have a bit myself,” murmured Whalen.

“Go on,” mumbled Murker, his mouth half full. “The boss will eat later, I reckon.”

Tom reflected that by the “boss” they must mean Skeel.

As for the young hunter, he eagerly took some of the bread and meat. It was cold, but it was good and nourishing, and seemed to have been well cooked. It put new life into Tom at once. He would have liked a cup of coffee, but there seemed to be none. Perhaps the men would make some later. Tom certainly hoped that they would do so.

The men ate fast – almost ravenously, and Tom was not at all slow himself. He did not realize what an appetite he had until he saw the victuals disappearing.

Then, when the edge of his hunger had been a little dulled and blunted, to say the least, Tom once more began wondering why he had been caught and brought as a prisoner to the lonely hut.

“What’s the game?” he asked himself.

He was soon to know.

“Well, if you fellows have had enough, and he’s been fed, tie up his hands again,” said Skeel, coming from the room just then. “I want to have a talk with him. You can wait outside,” he added, when the ropes had once more been put on Tom’s hands and arms.

Skeel waited until the men had left the hut. Then, locking the door after them, the former teacher confronted Tom. Up to now our hero had said nothing. He believed in a policy of silence for the time being.

“Well, what do you think of yourself now?” sneered Skeel, folding his arms. “You’re not so smart as you thought you were, are you?”

“I haven’t begun to think yet,” said Tom, coolly. “But I would like to know why you have brought me here – by what right?”

“By the right of – might!” was the answer. “I’ve got you here, and here I’m going to keep you until your father pays me a ransom of ten thousand dollars. That will square accounts a little, and make up for some of the things you did to me. It’s you against ten thousand dollars, and I guess your father would rather pay up than see you suffer. Now I’ll get down to business,” and he drew up a chair and sat down in front of Tom.

CHAPTER XXII

AN ANXIOUS SEARCH

George Abbot had the luck of finding the road for which he and his chums had all vainly sought so long in the storm. It will be remembered that the four boys had started in different directions, corresponding to the different points of the compass, to search for a route, either back to the hut where they had spent the night, or to one of the three camps.

And it was George who found the road.

True he did not know which road it was at the time, but when he had stumbled on through the drifting snow, fighting his way against the storm for some time, he fairly tumbled down a little embankment, rolling over and over.

“Well, what’s this?” George asked himself, rather dazed, as he rose to his feet.

He had his answer in a moment.

“It’s a road – I hope it’s the road,” he went on, as he saw that the little declivity down which he had fallen was where the road had been cut through a hill, leaving a slope on either side of the highway.

“I must signal to the others at once,” George decided. His gun had slipped from his grasp when he fell, but he now picked up the weapon, and fired two shots in quick succession. It was the signal agreed upon.

The wind was blowing hard, and George was not sure that the sound of the shots would carry to his chums. He did not know just how far they were from him. So, after waiting a bit, he strolled down the snow-covered road a bit, and fired again. He repeated this three times, at intervals, before he heard an answering shot. Then he raised his voice in a yell, and soon was relieved to be joined by Jack.

“What is it?” Jack asked.

“The road – I’ve found it,” George answered.

“Where’s Bert – and Tom?”

“Haven’t seen either of them.”

“Well, they’re probably looking yet. We’ll fire some more shots and bring ’em up.”

George and Jack fired at intervals, the signal each time being two rapid shots, but it was some time before they had an answer. It finally came in the shape of another shot, followed quickly by a shout.

“It’s Bert,” said George.

“Sounded more like Tom,” was his chum’s guess. While they waited, they exchanged experiences. Jack told of vainly floundering about in the drifts, while George had better news to impart.

“I fairly stumbled on the road,” he said.

“Any way at all, as long as you found it,” said Jack. “Here comes someone now.”

It proved to be Bert, who staggered up through the storm, himself almost a living snowball.

“Found anything?” he gasped, for he was quite “winded.”

“The road,” answered George.

“Where’s Tom?” asked Jack.

“Why, isn’t he with you?” asked Bert, in some surprise. “I haven’t seen anything of him.”

“He’s probably off searching for a highway,” said George, hopefully. “We’ll fire a few more shots.”

They fired more than a few, but received no response from Tom, and we well know the reason why, though his chums did not at the time.

“Well, what had we better do?” asked Jack, at length. “I’m about all in, and I guess you fellows feel about the same.”

“I would like something to eat,” admitted Bert.

“And I’m terribly cold,” confessed George, who was shivering.

“Well, let’s look about a bit on either side of this road, then go up and down it a ways, and keep firing and shouting,” suggested Jack. “We may find Tom. If we don’t – well, I think we’d better see where this road goes.”

They adopted that plan, but though they shouted vigorously, and fired many shots, there came no answer from Tom.

The exercise and the shouting, however, had one good result. It warmed George so he was no longer in danger of coming down with pneumonia.

“Well, it’s six of one and a half dozen of the other,” said Bert, at length. “What shall we do, and which way shall we go on this road to get to camp?”

“We’d better try to find one of the cabins,” said Jack. “And I think this direction seems to be the most likely,” and he pointed to the left.

“Go ahead; I’m with you,” said Bert, and George nodded assent.

“What about Tom, though?” asked George, anxiously.

“Well, we can’t find him. He may have gone on ahead, or he may still be searching for a road. In either case he’s too far off for us to make him hear – that’s evident. And we may find him just as well by trying to make our way back to camp as staying here,” said Jack.

So it was decided to do this, and off they started. The storm did not seem quite so fierce now. In fact, there were indications that the fall of snow was lessening. But a great deal had fallen, making walking difficult. The cold was intense, but it was a dry cold, not like the damp, penetrating air of New Jersey, and the boys stood it much better.

They had not gone far before Jack uttered a cry.

“Here he comes! There’s Tom!” he shouted, pointing at a figure advancing toward them through the mist of flakes that were still falling, but more lazily now.

“It’s someone, but how do you know it’s Tom?” asked Bert.

“Who else would it be?” Jack wanted to know.

“It might be – Skeel,” suggested George.

“Or that – bear!” and, as he said this, Bert advanced his gun.

“Nonsense – that’s no bear!” exclaimed Jack. “It isn’t Tom though, either,” he added, as the figure came nearer.

A moment later they all saw at once who it was.

“Sam Wilson!” exclaimed Bert. “That’s good! Now he can tell us what to do, and where Tom is. Hello, Sam!” he called, for that was how everyone addressed the genial guide – even those who had met him only once or twice.