The Forest Runners Part 20

"I think they're lookin' here because the place is haunted, and not because we are on it," said Jim Hart.

It seemed that he spoke the truth, as the Miamis presently swung nearer to the mainland and began to examine the sh.o.r.es long and critically.

"I guess they've been huntin' us all through the woods, an' think now we may be hid somewhar at the edge uv the lake," said Jim Hart.

It seemed so. The two lay there for hours, watching the little fleet of canoes as it circled the lake, keeping near the outer rim, and searching among all the hills and hollows that bordered the sh.o.r.es. Once, when it was on the western side, the fleet turned its head again toward the island, and again apprehension arose in the hearts of the boy and the man, but it was only for a fleeting moment. The line of canoes was quickly turned away, and bore on down the open water. Paul and Jim Hart were protected by Manitou.

The circ.u.mnavigation of the lake by the Miamis lasted throughout the remainder of the day, and when the twilight came, the canoes were lost in its shade toward the southern end of the sheet of water.

"We're safe," said Jim Hart, "but we've still got to keep close. They may hang about here fur days."

"What about Henry and Ross and Sol?" asked Paul anxiously. "On their way back they may run right into that wasp's nest."

"'Tain't likely," replied Jim Hart. "Our boys know what they're a-doin'.

But I wish them Miamis would go away so's I could light a fire an' cook some fresh meat."

CHAPTER XII

THE BELT BEARERS

Paul and Jim Hart waited several days, never once venturing from the protecting shadows of the woods, and they found the burden very great. The little island was like a cage, and Jim Hart groaned, moreover, because he could not exercise his skill in the art of cooking.

"These cold victuals," he said, "besides bein' unpleasant to the inside, are a disgrace to me. I jest got to cook somethin'."

Finally, he built up a bed of coals on a very dark night, when it was impossible for anyone to see either their sheltered glow or the smoke they sent out, and he broiled juicy steaks from the body of a deer that they had hung up in a tree.

"Isn't it fine, Paul?" he said, as they ate hungrily.

"Fine's no name for it," replied Paul. "It's great, splendid, grand, magnificent, surpa.s.sing, unapproachable! Are those the terms, Jim?"

"I don't know jest what all uv 'em mean," replied Jim Hart, "but they sh.o.r.ely sound right to me."

They saw the Indian canoes on the lake once more, but the Miamis seemed to be fis.h.i.+ng, and did not come anywhere near the island. Paul appreciated then how great had been their continual need of caution.

A day or two later there was a magnificent thunder storm, despite the lateness of the season. The heavenly artillery roared grandly, and lakes, hills, and forest swam at times in a glare that dazzled Jim Hart. After that it rained hard, and they clung to the shelter of their hut, which was fortunately water-tight now. The rain ceased by and by, but the clouds remained in the sky, and night came very thick and dark. Jim Hart suggested that it would be a good time to do a little fis.h.i.+ng, and Paul was ready and willing.

They paddled out silently a short distance from the island, where the water was not too shallow, and let down the lines.

They waited some time and received no bites; but as this was nothing unusual, owing to the crudity of their fis.h.i.+ng tackle, they persisted patiently. The night deepened and darkened, and they could not see the surface of the lake fifty yards away. The water, moved by a light wind, bubbled faintly against the sides of the canoe. Neither spoke, but sat in silence, waiting hopefully for a pull on the lines.

Presently Paul heard a faint, wailing sound, coming from the mainland, but at first he paid little attention to it. Then he noticed that Jim Hart had raised his head and was listening intently. Naturally Paul then listened, too, with the same eager attention, and the faint wailing sound, singularly weird and strange in the night, came a second, and presently a third time. But after that it was not repeated. Long Jim Hart looked at the boy.

"You know what that is?" he said.

"The cry of the whip-poor-will."

"The cry of the whip-poor-will, given three times! The signal! The boys are thar, an' we must go fur 'em."

"Of course," said Paul. "Do we need to return to the island for anything?"

"No; we have our rifles an' ammunition with us. We got to start right now, an' Paul, don't you splash any water with your paddle."

Paul understood as well as Jim Hart the need of extreme caution, as the Miamis might be abroad, and he made every stroke steady and sure. Jim Hart emitted the lonesome cry of the whip-poor-will once in return--signal for signal--and then they cut their way in silence through the dark.

They laid their course, according to agreement, for the drinking place at the mouth of the brook, and Paul's heart beat with relief and gladness.

His comrades had come back, safe and sound. It did not occur to him that any one of them might have fallen in the venture. Half way to the mainland Jim Hart stopped the canoe, and listened a moment.

"I thought I heard somethin' down the lake that sounded like a splash," he said.

But he did not hear it again, and they resumed their progress. Paul now saw the loom of the land, a darker outline in the darkness, and his heart, already beating fast, began to beat faster. Suppose there should be some trick in the signal! Suppose they should find the Miamis, and not their comrades, waiting for them! He sought hard to pierce the darkness and see what might be there on the land before him.

The outline of the sh.o.r.e rose more distinctly out of the darkness, and the prow of the boat struck softly on the margin. Then Paul saw a figure rise from the bushes, and after it another, and then a third, and then no more.

He could not see their faces, but it was the right number, and a vast relief surged up. The three figures came down confidently to the canoe, and then the welcome voice of Henry Ware said in a low tone:

"You are here, Paul! You and Jim are on time to the minute!"

"An' mighty glad I am, too," said s.h.i.+f'less Sol, in the same tone. "I wuz never so tired before in all my life. I think I must have trotted a thousan' miles, an' now I'm willin' to let Jim Hart paddle me the rest o'

the way in a canoe."

Tom Ross said nothing, merely showing his white teeth in a smile.

"The Miamis are about," said Paul. "They have been around the lake, and on it, for days, looking for something."

"We know it," said Henry. "In fact, we've seen some of them not so long since, though none of them saw us. There are big doings afoot, Paul, and we must have our part in them."

"Should we go back to the island, then?"

"For the present, yes. We need a base, and the island is safest and best."

The five got cautiously into the canoe, disposing their weight carefully, and s.h.i.+f'less Sol, who had taken the paddle from Paul, raised it for the first sweep. But it did not come down into the water. Instead, he stopped it in its fall, and he and all the others listened. The same splash that Jim Hart thought he had heard came now to their ears, and it was repeated.

Paul knew that it was made by paddles sweeping through water, and it was coming nearer.

"Push back into the bushes," whispered Henry.

They gently shoved the canoe far among the bushes in the shallow water, and waited. They were completely hidden, but even if seen they could spring instantly to the land. They waited, and the splas.h.i.+ng steadily grew louder. Paul felt the pressure of Henry's hand on his arm, and he looked with all his eyes. The Miami navy was abroad that night! A canoe, a long one with seven or eight warriors in it, was abreast of them, and behind it came five others. They were not twenty yards away, and Paul, in fancy at least, saw the savage eyes and the painted faces. What had brought them out on the lake, what suspicion or precaution, Paul never knew, but there they were. All were brave hearts in the hidden canoe, but they held their breath while that silent file pa.s.sed by. Then, when the last had gone and was lost in the darkness, they pushed out a little and listened, with all the keenness of forest-bred ears. Hearing no splash, they paddled in a straight course for the haunted island.

"I think they've gone toward the north end of the lake, and as they are likely to keep on their way, now is our time," said Henry.

They pushed farther into the lake, Ross and s.h.i.+f'less Sol now handling the paddles with wonderful dexterity. They went very slowly, not wis.h.i.+ng to make the faintest splash, and meanwhile the darkness thickened and deepened again. It felt very damp to the face, and Paul saw now that fog from the rain of the day was mingled with it. They could not see the faintest outline of the island, but held their course from memory.

They had been out about ten minutes when Ross and Sol, as if by simultaneous impulse, ceased paddling, and Henry whispered; "Don't anybody make any noise; it's for our lives!"

They heard that faint splash, which Paul had learned to hate, coming back.

The Miami navy, from some unknown cause, had turned in its course. How Paul blessed the thick, fog-charged darkness!