The Camp in the Snow Part 37

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 hoa.r.s.e cry on his lips, he shot down--down into the misty, yawning depths of s.p.a.ce.

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 x.x.xI.

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 pa.s.sed out of the door. "So they are going to hunt a safer hiding-place."

"That's about it," a.s.sented Hamp.

There was no chance to say more. A sled was given to each lad, and they dropped into line behind Bogle, who a.s.sumed 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.