The Auto Boys' Vacation Part 15

None could he then see. There were other hemlocks, but all of a younger, second-growth variety. So he ranged to and fro, but no such tree could he find. The undergrowth was not thick, yet it prevented clear vision of anything more than a few yards away. He was about to give up, feeling a first sense of coming despair, when he caught sight of a high bulge upward through the tops of some clumps of bushes. He sprang on a nearby log and his pulse thrilled a bit when he saw that what was in view was the rounded top of a big rock.

Impetuously he leaped on through the bushes, but when nearly there he stumbled and fell over a tree root. Following the fallen trunk he noted an enormous split, extending from where the trunk divided halfway down towards the upturned root.

"By hokey! Can this be it?"

Plunging through the thick bushes, he reached the place where the branches spread out over the ground, first noticing that the withered leaves, like needles, still sharp and pointed, were undoubtedly of the hemlock variety. Moreover, the big rock which had first caught his attention seemed to be about the proper distance from where the roots showed the hemlock must have stood before the storm, or whatever caused it to fall, had done its work.

About this time he heard calls from his partners, for Phil was yet hidden from them by intervening bushes. Moreover, he was some distance away, which confirmed one of two facts. Either the two lads had measured or counted wrong in their advance with the tapeline or, as Phil concluded, the distance was only approximate. A prisoner, trusting largely to memory, Coster could not be exact, unless by sheer accident.

"Hullo! Here I am, boys! Come this way!"

They came, Phil a.s.sisting their progress by calling out now and then.

When they arrived, no hemlock being in sight, the boys stared first at Phil seated on the trunk of an upturned tree, then at the boulder close by.

"How'd you get way out here?" demanded Paul.

"Followed my nose! How would you think?" Phil looked amused. "What's that you got--a tapeline?"

"Yep," replied Dave. "Wanted to be exact as possible."

Phil laughed. Said he:

"Do you reckon Coster was very exact when he drew that map--from memory?"

"Oh--stuff! I don't see any big split hemlock."

"You're looking at it, stupid! I'm sitting on the b.u.t.t of it, and right there is the rock, I think."

At first inclined to scoff, both lads now saw Phil's side of it at once.

Dave looked about again.

"It's a thick place here," he ventured. "You were lucky to stumble on it this way, Phil."

"Didn't stumble on it. I was particular about keeping my compa.s.s right.

When I got where I thought I might have gone half a mile or so I began to look round a bit. I couldn't see any big split hemlock, but I did manage to find this big rock. After that it was easy to find the tree, even though it had been blown down."

After some further talk it was agreed that the first step would be to return to the car. Then they would decide upon what to do next.

"I think we should visit that old tavern while we are here," remarked Paul. "No knowing what we might find there. If there's an old shovel or anything, we might come back and dig under that rock for a starter."

Phil and Dave also had their theories as to what should next be in order, but nothing conclusive was determined on. Meanwhile the three, threading the trail Phil had first followed and which Dave and Paul had made more distinct, they finally reached the clump of shade trees where they had left Billy on guard over the Big Six.

But in the place of the glistening car with Billy Worth still on guard there was only a vacant place. No glimpse of either was anywhere to be seen.

"Look here--on the ground," exclaimed Paul, pointing here and there.

"Somebody else has been here! Looks as if there had been a scuffle!"

Where Paul was pointing there were signs of many footsteps, inextricably intermingled, with sundry deep gouges in the loose soil as if those who made them were in a struggle of some kind.

"Look here, boys!" Dave was holding up a soiled handkerchief that he had found underneath a jumble of twigs and leaves evidently kicked together by those engaged in the scuffling, signs of which were more than plentiful. "By jimminy! That's Billy's handkerchief or I'm blind!"

Sure enough, it was Billy's, for in one corner were his initials which the boys had often seen on many of his belongings.

Phil meanwhile had been taking a comprehensive survey of the whole scene. Presently he noted that while the struggles had gone on mostly in one spot, there were, at one side, clear markings of the car wheels as it was steered in a semicircle towards the very road along which the boys had traveled not more than an hour or so before.

"Boys," said he, "I hate to acknowledge it, but Billy must have been surprised by somebody. Probably outnumbered, too. These tracks show that Billy must have put up a good fight; but they were too many for him, whoever they were. Come on! We've no time to lose!" And straightway he began following the tracks through the straggly undergrowth until he reached the road.

The others, catching the significance of Phil's suspicions, plodded after, taking in as they went where the car, avoiding the more open s.p.a.ces, had plunged through the thicker growth. Evidently those on board were bent on gaining the road by the nearest route, and at a point somewhat beyond where the car had turned off when the boys first reached that place.

To the right was the old tavern, and at one spot the car had stopped where there were signs that a path had been crushed out in traveling through the brush towards the tavern.

"Look here," said Phil. "What does this mean?"

The signs were plain that something or someone had been half dragged or carried along towards the old Ghost Tavern.

"What had we better do?" exclaimed Dave. "Follow the car or take a look into that old ramshackle building?"

"Gee! Why, Billy may have been carried there--hark!"

At this from Paul all listened intently. There were certainly queer sounds to be heard somewhere ahead. Phil dashed boldly forward, calling:

"Dave, you go back and see which way that car went! Then come back to Paul and me. Get a hustle on now!"

Paul, das.h.i.+ng on after Phil, heard Dave grunt a dubious acquiescence as he turned back towards the road. They could trust Dave. He was often doubtful, even dubious, but he had sharp eyes and good judgment in the main.

A minute or so later Phil, followed closely by Jones, reached a more open s.p.a.ce, though overgrown with straggly weeds and gra.s.s.

"This must be the yard of the old inn," remarked Phil. "Look, Paul!"

He was pointing where the woods trail on entering the yard showed distinct signs where some hard objects had been half dragged. It was as if boot-heels had dented the soft places in a steady imprint.

Just then came sounds from inside the house that might have been grunts or groans of pain. Without a halt Phil dashed over the porch, where heavier weights had partially crushed the rotten flooring. Avoiding these places, the two boys--Phil still in the lead--entered a short hallway, where was a doorless opening that led into what once had doubtless been the tavern office.

On the floor of the porch and hallway were fresh tracks, with the trail of shoe or boot-heels dragging along. The office room looked dark inside, though a couple of sashless windows let in some light which was, however, little more than shadowy gloom from the overhanging branches of the trees without. While they stared, listening, something stirred and sc.r.a.ped the dusty floor in a far corner, where a short counter toppled outward as if in danger of falling over.

"What's that?" echoed Phil. "Is it anybody?"

m.u.f.fled, jerky noises issued from the recess under the half tumbling counter. With an exclamation Paul darted forward, reached under the counter and felt an object that at once electrified the boy.

"Let's pull it out, Phil!" he urged. "It may be--"

Aided by Phil, Paul dragged forth a bound form, tied hand and foot with improvised shreds of cloth, the mouth tightly gagged with a couple of kerchiefs--in a word, Billy!

"Why, Billy, you poor boy!" exclaimed Phil, whipping out his knife and in another minute releasing the cords that bound him and cutting loose the cruel gag that had been so tightly forced into the lad's mouth that the corners of his lips were bleeding.

They bore him out of the porch to a gra.s.sy place, where with a sudden wriggle Billy sat upright, twisted his neck about, gulped a time or two, then stared at his comrades as if astonished.

"D-didn't you hear me holler?" he asked. "But of course you didn't.