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

“Hello yourselves!” Sam answered in greeting. “What are you fellows doing here?”

“We’ve been lost, and we’ve just found ourselves,” explained Jack. “We’re on our way to Camp No. 3.”

“Oh, no, you’re not!” exclaimed Sam, smiling.

“Why not?” Bert wanted to know.

“For the simple reason that you’re on your way to Camp No. 2,” answered Sam. “You’re going the wrong way for Camp No. 3.”

“Well, maybe we are twisted,” admitted Jack, “but as long as we’re headed for some camp, I don’t care what it is.

“We’ve been out all night,” he added, “or at least sheltered in only an old cabin. We haven’t had anything to-day but some coffee, and we’re about done out. Isn’t this storm fierce?”

“Oh, we’re used to these up here in the Adirondacks,” spoke Sam.

Then the boys told how they had been out hunting and had seen the signpost that informed them it was seven miles to Ramsen.

“But you went the wrong way!” exclaimed Sam, when he had heard the details. “Ramsen was in just the opposite direction.”

“Then the signboard was wrong!” declared Jack.

“That’s funny,” Sam spoke, musingly. “Signboards don’t change themselves that way. There’s something wrong here.”

“Well, never mind that,” went on Bert. “Have you seen anything of Tom Fairfield?”

“Tom Fairfield! Why, I thought he was with you!” exclaimed Sam, quickly looking around.

“He was, but we separated to find the road,” explained George, “and now we can’t locate Tom.”

“Well, this won’t do,” Sam spoke, and his voice was serious. “We will have to hunt for him right away. He hasn’t had anything to eat, you say?”

“None of us have,” said Jack. “That’s why we were so glad to find some sort of road.”

“Well, I’ve got my pung back there a piece,” said the guide. “I have some grub in it that I was taking over to your Camp No. 2. I can give you a snack from that, and then we’ll do some searching for the boy. I like Tom Fairfield!”

“So do I!” exclaimed Jack, and the others nodded emphatic agreements, with a chorus of:

“That’s what!”

Never did food taste so good as that which Sam brought up from his pung. He explained that he had walked on ahead while his horses were eating their dinners from nose-bags.

“And it’s lucky for you fellows I did,” he said, “though of course you might have stumbled on the camp yourselves. But now for a search.”

And with anxious hearts the boys took it up. Where could Tom Fairfield be? That was a question each one asked himself.

CHAPTER XXIII

DEFIANCE

Tom, a bound prisoner, watched the insolent professor who sat facing him. The latter had on his face a sneer of triumph, but mingled with it, as Tom could note, was a look that had in it not a little fear. For the desperate man had planned a desperate game, and he was not altogether sure how it would work out.

Tom steeled himself to meet what was coming. He did not know what it was, but that it was something that would concern himself, vitally, he was sure. And he was better prepared to meet what was coming than he had been an hour or so previous.

For now, though he was a prisoner, and bound, he was warm, and he had eaten. These things go far toward making courage in a man, or boy either, for that matter.

“Now,” said Professor Skeel, and the sneer on his face grew more pronounced, “we’ll talk business!”

“Oh, no, we won’t!” exclaimed Tom, quickly.

“We won’t?” and there was a sharp note in the man’s voice.

“I’ll have nothing to do with you,” went on Tom. “You brought me here against my will, and you are liable to severe penalties for what you did. As soon as I can get to an officer, I intend to cause your arrest, and the arrest of those two miserable tools of yours.

“I’m not at all afraid – don’t think it. You can’t keep me here for very long. Sooner or later I’ll get out, and then I’ll make it hot for you! That’s just what I’ll do – I’ll make it hot for you!”

During this little outburst on the part of Tom, Professor Skeel sat staring at his prisoner. He did not seem at all frightened by what Tom said, though the young man put all the force he could into his words. But Tom was observant. He noticed that the little look of worry did not leave the man’s face.

“I’ll make it so hot for you,” went on Tom, “that you’ll have to leave this part of the country. You’ll have to leave if you get the chance, and perhaps you won’t. My father and I will push this case to the end. I don’t know what your game is, but I can guess.”

“Well, since you can guess, perhaps you can guess what I’m going to do with you!” angrily interrupted the professor.

“No, I can’t, exactly,” spoke Tom, slowly, “but if it’s anything mean or low-down, you’ll do it. I know you of old. I’ve had dealing with you before.”

“Yes, and you’re going to have more!” the professor fairly shouted. “I’m going to get even with you for what you did for me. You caused me to lose my place at Elmwood Hall – ”

“You deserved to lose it!” said Tom, cuttingly.

“And you mistreated me when we were out in that open boat – ”

“Mistreated you!” fairly gasped Tom, amazed at the man’s hardness of mind. “Mistreated you, when you tried to steal the little water and food we had left!”

He could say no more. His mind went back vividly to the days of the wreck of the Silver Star, when he and others had been in great peril at sea. He had indeed prevented the professor from carrying out his evil designs, though Tom was not more harsh than needful. But now he was to suffer for that.

“I’ve got you where I want you,” went on Skeel, when Tom had become silent. “I’ve laid my plans well, and you fell into the trap. I won’t deny that the storm helped a lot, but I’ve got you now, and you’re going to do as I say, or it will be the worse for you. You’ll do as I say – ”

“Don’t be too sure!” interrupted Tom.

“That’s enough!” snapped the angry man. “You may not realize that you are in my power, and that you’re up here in a lonely part of the woods, away from your friends. They don’t know where you are, and you don’t know where they are. They can’t help you. Those two men of mine will do as I say, and – ”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt but that you’ve trained them well in your own class of scoundrelism,” said Tom, coolly.

“Silence!” fairly shouted the infuriated man. Tom ceased his talk because he chose, not because he was afraid.

Professor Skeel hesitated a moment, and then drew from his pocket some papers. Tom was at a loss to guess what they might be. In fact, he had but a dim idea why he had been captured and brought to the hut in the wilderness.

Some things the two men – Murker and Whalen – let fall, however, gave him an inkling of what was to come. So he did not show any great surprise when Professor Skeel, handing him a paper, said:

“That’s a copy of a letter I want you to write to your father. Copy it, sign it in your natural hand, without any changes whatever, or without making any secret signs on the paper, and give it back to me. When I get the right kind of an answer back, I’ll let you go – not before. Write that letter to your father!”

There was a veiled threat implied in the insolent command.

Professor Skeel held the letter out in front of Tom. The latter could not take it, of course, for his hands were tied.

“Oh!” exclaimed the plotter, as though he had just wakened to this fact. “Well, I’ll loosen your hands for you, but you must promise not to fight. Not that I’m afraid of you, for I can master you, but I don’t want to hurt you, physically, if I can help it.”

Tom did not altogether agree with the professor that he would be the master if it came to an encounter. For our hero was a vigorous lad, he played football and baseball, and his muscles were ready for instant call. True, he was tired from lack of rest and the hardships he had gone through, but he was not at all afraid of a “scrap,” as he afterward put it.

So, then, when Professor Skeel made the remark about the bonds, Tom was ready for what came next.

“I’ll loosen those ropes, so you can copy this letter, if you’ll promise not to attack me,” went on Skeel.

“I’ll promise nothing!” exclaimed Tom, defiantly.

“All right. Then I’ll have to call in my helpers to stand by,” grimly went on the former instructor. “They’ll take care of you if you cut up rough.”

He went to the door, and called out:

“Murker – Whalen! Come in. We may need you,” he added significantly.

Tom steeled himself for what was to come.

“Take off those ropes,” went on the professor, when his two mean men had come in. “Then, if he starts a row – let him have it!”

The words were coarse and rough, and the man’s manner and tone even more so.

“Are we to take off these ropes?” asked Murker.

“Yes, and then stand by. I’m going to make him write this letter. That will bring the cash.”

“That’s what we want!” exclaimed Whalen, with an unctious smile. “It’s the cash I’m after.”

“You’ll get none from my father!” cried Tom, beginning to understand the course of the plot.

“We’ll see about that,” muttered the professor. “Loose his bonds, but look out! He’s a tricky customer.”

“Not any more so than you are,” Tom said, promptly. “And I want to tell you here and now, when you have your witnesses present – mean and low as they are – I want to tell you that you’ll suffer for this when I get out. I’ll make it my business, and my father will also, to prosecute you to the full extent of the law!”

“Words – mere words!” sneered Skeel.

“You won’t get out until you do as the boss wants,” said Whalen.

“Don’t be so rough. Better give in, it will be easier,” spoke Murker, who seemed a little alarmed by what Tom said.

“I’ll attend to him,” said Skeel curtly. “Take off the ropes. Then you read this letter and copy and sign it!” he ordered.

A moment later Tom’s hands were free. He did not see any chance for making an escape then, so he waited, merely stretching his arms so that the bound muscles were more free. True, he might have made a rush on his captors, but the door had been locked, after the entrance of Murker and Whalen, and Tom did not see what opportunity he would have with three against him. He might be seriously hurt and that would spoil his chances for a future escape.

“Read that,” ordered Skeel, thrusting the paper into Tom’s hands. A glance showed that it was addressed to his father. It recited that Tom was in trouble, that he had been made a prisoner by a band of men who would release him only on payment of ten thousand dollars. Details were given as to how the money, in cash, must be sent, and Mr. Fairfield was urged to make no effort to trace Tom, or it would result seriously for the prisoner.

“Sign that and we’ll send it,” ordered Skeel.

Tom dropped the letter to the floor, disdaining to hand it back.

“What’s this?” fairly roared the professor. “Do you mean you won’t do as I say?”

“That’s just what I mean,” said Tom, coolly. “You may keep me here as long as you like, and you can do as you please, but I’ll never sign that letter. Go ahead! I’m not afraid of you!” and he faced his enemies defiantly.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE ESCAPE

Professor Skeel retained control of himself with an obvious effort. Clearly he had expected more of a spirit of agreement on the part of Tom, though he might have known, from his previous experiences with our hero, that compliance would not be given. But Tom did not even take the trouble to hand back the letter. It had fluttered to the floor of the cabin.

“You – you – ” began Whalen, angrily spluttering the words.

“Silence!” commanded Skeel. “I’m attending to this.” His face and his tone showed his anger, but he managed to keep it under control. He picked up the letter – something of a condescension on his part, and said to Tom:

“Then you refuse to do as I ask?”

“I most certainly do! The idea is positively – silly!” and Tom had the nerve to laugh in the faces of his enemies.

“We’ll make you sweat for this!” declared Whalen. “We’ll – ”

“Better let the boss work the game,” suggested Murker. In spite of his evil face, and the fact that he was just as guilty in the matter as the others, he seemed of a more conciliatory spirit.

“Yes, you keep out of this,” commanded the professor to the former employee of the school. “I know what I’m doing.”

Tom wondered what the next move would be. He did not have to wait long to find out.

“Well, if you won’t sign this now, you will later,” said Skeel, as he folded the letter and put it into his pocket. “Take him to the dark room,” he ordered. “Maybe he’ll come to his senses there. And don’t give him too much bread and water,” and the man laughed as he gave this order. “A little starving will bring some results, perhaps. Lock him up, and bring me the key.”

“All right, you’re the boss,” assented Murker. “I’m in this thing now, and I’m going to stick it out, but I wish – ”

“You’re right; you’re going to stick!” interrupted Skeel. “You’re in it as deep as I am, and you can’t get out!”

Murker did not finish what he started to say. He shrugged his shoulders and seemed resigned to what was to come. Tom disliked him the least of the three, though the man’s face was not in his favor.

“Shall we tie him up again?” asked Whalen.

“Yes, and tie him good and tight, too. Don’t mind how you draw those cords. The more trouble we make now, the less we’ll have to make later. Tie him up and put him away where he can cool off,” and Professor Skeel laughed mockingly.

For an instant a desperate resolve came into Tom’s mind to make a rush and a break for liberty. But the idea was dismissed almost as soon as it was formed.

What chance would he stand with three full-grown men to oppose him? The door was locked, and Tom’s feet were still bound. He had a knife in his pocket, but to reach it, and cut the ropes on his ankles would take time, and in that time he would easily be overpowered by his captors. It was out of the question now.

“But I’m going to escape, if it’s at all possible,” Tom declared to himself. “And when I do get out of here – ”

But he could not finish his thought. His gun and mackinaw had been taken away from him, and now when Whalen roughly seized him, and put the ropes on his wrists, Skeel said:

“Search his pockets. Take what money he has and any sort of weapons. Then lock him up!”

Tom did have considerable money on him, and this was soon out of his pockets, and in that of the professor. Tom’s knife and other possessions were also removed. Then he was lifted up, carried to another room, and roughly thrust into sort of a closet that was very dark. Tom fell heavily to the floor. His mackinaw was tossed in to him.

“He can use that for a blanket – we’re short of covering,” he heard Skeel say. “We don’t want him to be too comfortable, anyhow.”

Tom was anything but at his ease just then, but he did not falter in his determination not to give in. He shut his teeth grimly.

The door was closed and locked, and our hero was left to his not very pleasant reflections. He managed to struggle to a sitting position, and to edge over until he was leaning back against the wall. He drew his heavy mackinaw to him. It would be warm during the cold night, for that he would be kept a prisoner at least that length of time, he could not doubt.

Tom’s thoughts were many and various. So this was why Skeel had followed him and his chums. This was why he had reappeared at Elmwood Hall, and had caused Whalen to ask questions about the hunting trip.

So this was Skeel’s plan for enriching his purse and at the same time getting revenge. So far, fate had played into the hands of the unscrupulous man and his confederates.

“But I’ll get away!” Tom told himself. He sat there in the gloomy darkness, trying to think of a plan.

Meanwhile his chums, with Sam Wilson, were frantically searching for him in the storm. Sam’s idea was not to leave the neighborhood where Tom had last been seen, until they had exhausted every effort to locate their missing chum.

But it was difficult to search in the storm, and the whirl of flakes made a long view impossible. Then, too, they were in a dense part of the wilderness. Sam Wilson’s farm was perhaps the largest cleared part of it, though here and there were patches where trees had been cut down.

Up and down the road, and on either side of it, the search went on. Sam Wilson was a born woodsman, as well as a hunter and farmer, and he brought his efficiency to the task.

“But it seems to be no go, boys,” he said, at length.

“But what has become of him?” asked George with a look of worriment on his face.

“That’s what we can’t say except that he’s lost,” spoke Jack.

“Yes, but lost in this wilderness – in this storm,” added Bert. “It’s dangerous.”

“Yes, that’s what it is, provided he is still lost,” Sam said.

“Still lost! What do you mean?” asked Jack.

“I mean he may have gone so far that he found his way back to one of the camps.”

“Really?” hopefully cried Bert, who thought Sam might be saying that simply to cheer them up.

“Why, of course it’s possible,” the caretaker went on. “He may have gone on beyond the sound of your guns. And, unexpectedly, he may have hit the trail to one of the camps. For there are trails that lead through the woods. They’re not easy to find, or follow, but Tom might have had luck.”

“Then what shall we do?” asked Jack.

“Go back to Camp No. 2,” answered Sam. “Tom may be there. If he isn’t, we’ll go to the others in turn. Let’s go back. We’ll drive.”

So, abandoning the search for the time being, they started back for camp in the pung, drawn by the powerful horses. They were hoping against hope that Tom would be there, or that they would find him at one of the other cabins.

But Tom was still a prisoner in the dark closet of the lonely shack. What his thoughts were you can well imagine, but, above everything else stood out the determination not to give in and sign the letter asking for the ransom money.

Hours passed. Tom again felt the pangs of hunger. He had an idea the men might try to starve him, but after an interval, which he imagined brought the time to noon, Murker came in with some bread and water.

“Boss’s orders,” he growled. “I’ll untie your hands while you eat, and don’t try any tricks.”

Tom did not answer. The bread was welcome, but the water more so. Murker left him a glass full after he had once emptied the tumbler. Then the ropes were again put on his hands, and he was left alone in the darkness.

Whether it was the same day or not, Tom could hardly tell. He must have dozed, for he awoke with a start, and he knew at once that some noise had caused it.

He listened intently, and heard a scratching, sniffing sound back of him. He could feel the board side of the shack, against which he was leaning, vibrate.

“Can it be that the boys are trying to release me?” Tom asked himself. But in another moment he knew this could not be true. His chums would come boldly up and not try to get him out in this secret fashion. The scratching and sniffing increased.

“It’s some animal!” Tom decided. He edged away from the side of the closet-room, and waited. The sound increased. Then came a splintering, rending sound as of wood breaking. Tom fancied he could feel a board move.

An instant later a streak of light came suddenly into his prison. It was from the moon which was shining brightly on the snow outside, and by the light through the crack Tom could see a big hairy paw thrust in where the board had been torn off.

“It’s a bear!” cried the lad. “He must smell something to eat, and he’s trying to get after it. He’s standing outside and has pulled off a loose board, and – by Jove! I can get out that way!” he said aloud. As he spoke the board was pulled farther loose, leaving a large opening. A sniffing snout was thrust in. Tom had no intention of sharing his prison with a bear, and, raising his two bound feet Tom kicked the animal on its most tender place – the nose. With a growl Bruin withdrew, and Tom could hear him sniffing indignantly as he scampered over the snow. But the bear had made for Tom a way of escape.

“If I could only get my arms and legs free, I could squeeze out through that opening,” Tom decided. Then like a flash the plan came to him.

The tumbler of water had been left within reach. Tom kicked it over with sufficient force to break the glass. He had to make a noise, but after waiting a while, he felt sure his captors had not been aroused. They did not seem to be on guard, or they would have heard the bear when he pulled loose the outside board.

Tom’s muscles were in good control, but he had to strain himself unmercifully to bend over and get a piece of the broken glass between his hands. Then he put it between his two boots, and held it there, with a sharp edge up, by pressing his feet tightly together.

You have doubtless guessed his plan. He was going to use the glass as a knife and saw the rope of his wrists upon it. This he proceeded to do. The moonlight outside, streaming in, gave him enough illumination to work by.

He cut himself several times before he succeeded in fraying the rope enough so it could be broken. Then, rubbing his arms to restore the interrupted circulation, Tom used the glass on the rope that bound his ankles. This he cut through quickly enough, and, was able to stand up. His legs were weak, and he waited a few minutes until he could use them to better advantage. Then, forcing farther off the dangling board, Tom crawled out in the snow, putting on his mackinaw when he was outside.

The storm had ceased. It was night – a night with a dazzling moon, and Tom was free. But where his chums were, or in what direction the camp lay, he could not tell.

CHAPTER XXV

THE SHOT

For a moment, after getting outside the cabin, Tom hardly knew what to do. He was at a loss in which direction to start, but he realized the necessity of getting away from that vicinity as soon as possible.

Though his escape did not seem to have aroused his captors, there was no telling when they would take the alarm and start after him. Tom looked for the bear. The animal was not in sight, though he could see by marks in the snow, where it had approached the cabin from the woods, and where it had run off into the forest again.

“Too bad I haven’t my gun!” mused Tom. “But I don’t dare try to get it.”

Then began for Tom a time he never forgot. He set off toward the woods, wishing to gain their friendly shelter as soon as he could, but once there he was at a loss how farther to proceed.

“But there’s no need to wait for morning,” he reasoned. “I can see almost as well now, as long as the moon is up. I’ll try to find some sort of a trail.”

He staggered on, yes, staggered, for he was weak from his experience, and he had not had proper food in some time. It seemed almost a week, but of course it was not as long as that.

Scarcely able to walk, but grimly determined not to give up, Tom urged himself on. Whither he was going, he knew not, but any way to leave that hateful shack, and the more hateful men behind, was good enough for the time being.

All night long Tom kept on going. He fancied he was on some sort of trail or road, but he could not be sure. Certainly the trees seemed cut down in a line, though it was a twisting and turning one.

Then the moon went down, leaving the scene pretty dark, but the white snow made objects plain. Tom kept on until at last he was fairly staggering from side to side. He was very weak.

“I – I’ve got to give up,” he panted. “I – I’ve got to – to rest.”

He looked about and saw sort of a nook under some bushes. On top was a matting of snow, like a roof. Tom crawled into this like some hunted animal, and sank down wearily. He pulled his mackinaw about him, thankful that he had it with him. He must have frozen without its protection.

Again Tom was unaware of the passage of time. He must have dozed or fainted, perhaps, but when he opened his eyes the sun was shining. The day was a brilliant one, and warm, for that time of year. Tom took heart. He crawled out, and once more started on his wearying tramp. He was very weak and exhausted, and there was a “gone” feeling to his stomach.

“Or the place where it used to be,” Tom said, with grim humor. “I don’t believe I have a stomach left.”

But he forced himself onward. It seemed that he had been staggering over the snow for a week. Time had lost its meaning for him.