The Vagrant Duke

  CHAPTER XX

  THE RUSSIAN PAYS

  When Peter came back to consciousness, he found himself lying in theshelter of the underbrush alone. And while he attempted to gather hisscattered wits together a figure came creeping through the bushes towardhim. It was Brierly, the clerk, carrying a hatful of water which he hadprocured from the neighboring rivulet. Brierly had a lump on hisforehead about the size of a silver dollar, and his disheveledappearance gave evidence of an active part in the melee.

  "What's happened?" asked Peter slowly, starting up as memory came backto him.

  But Brierly didn't answer at once.

  "Here, drink this. I don't think you're badly hurt----"

  "No. Just dazed a bit," muttered Peter, and let Brierly minister to himfor a moment.

  "You see, there were too many for us," Brierly explained. "We made apretty good fight of it at that, but they buried us by sheer weight ofnumbers. Yours isn't the only bruised head, though. Yakimov got hisearly in the game--and Jacobi. And gee! but that was a 'beaut' youhanded Flynn--right in the solar plexus with your heel. The_savate_--wasn't it? I saw a Frenchy pull that in a dive in Bordeaux. Ireckon Flynn won't be doin' much agitatin' for a while--except in hisstommick."

  "How did I get here?" asked Peter.

  "I hauled you into the bush as soon as I got a chance--in theconfusion--and gradually, got you back in here. But I think they'relookin' for us, so we'd better get a move on soon as you're fit enough."

  "Where's Jesse?"

  "Beat it, I reckon. Haven't seen him."

  "I see." And then, "Brierly, I'm obliged to you. I'll try to make it upto you for this."

  "You needn't bother. I'm for you. You can't let a lot of roughnecks putit over on you like this."

  "No--I can't--I can't," muttered Peter.

  "I wish we had a bunch of the boys I was with over in France down here.There's a few up in May's Landing who'd clean this lot up in no time."

  "I wish we had them." Peter straightened with some difficulty and roseto a sitting posture as the thought came to him. "I've got to get to the'phone, Brierly."

  "No. I wouldn't advise that--not here. Those roughnecks are between usand the office--in the office too, I reckon, by this time. It wouldn'tbe safe. Who were you goin' to 'phone to?"

  "May's Landing--the Sheriff. I'm going to see this thing through."

  "Righto! And I'm with you to a fare-ye-well. But it's got to be manageddifferent. They'll beat you to death if you show up now. It was Yakimovthat shot at you. He's after you. You were armed. It's a wonder youdidn't shoot him down." And then, with some hesitation, "Say, Mr.Nichols. You ain't really the Grand Duke Peter, are you?"

  Peter smiled. "What's left of him--I am. This man Yakimov is an agent ofTrotzky."

  Brierly whistled softly between his teeth. "I reckon _they_ want to getyou, don't they?"

  Peter nodded. "But they won't--not yet."

  They held a brief council of war and in a moment on hands and kneeswere making their way through the underbrush in the general direction ofBlack Rock. Behind them they heard rough laughter and an occasionaloutburst of song which proclaimed that new supplies of whisky had beenunearthed and that the anarchy which Yakimov so much desired nowprevailed. After a while, Peter managed to get to his feet and moved onat a greater speed. He had only been stunned by Shad's blow--a part ofthe force of which he had caught on his arm. The arm was still numb andhis head thumped, but as he went on in the cool air his brain clearedand he found it possible to plan with some definiteness. Brierly knewthe sheriff at May's Landing. There was nothing his friends would ratherdo than to be sworn in as deputies for a job like this. He had thoughtit a wonder that Peter hadn't called the Sheriff in before.

  "I thought I could manage the situation alone, Brierly," said Peterquietly, "but it's got the best of me."

  The way was long to Black Rock--at least eight miles by the way theytook--and it was almost six o'clock when, they reached McGuire's. Theyknew that with the "flivver" in the possession of the outlaws it wasquite possible that some of the ringleaders of the disturbance mighthave preceded them, and so they kept under cover until near the house,when they quickly emerged from the bushes and made their way to thekitchen door, entering without knocking.

  An unpleasant surprise awaited them here, for in the kitchen, securelygagged and bound to a chair, they found McGuire's valet, Stryker.

  It took only a moment to release the man and to get the gag out of hismouth, when he began sputtering and pointing toward the door into thehouse.

  "Hawk--Hawk Kennedy!" the amazed Peter made out.

  And after staring at the man in a moment of bewilderment, Peter drewout his revolver and dashed through the house, keyed up at once to newadventure, the eager Brierly at his heels. They went up the stairs andto the door of McGuire's own room, where they stood for a moment aghastat the disorder and havoc before them.

  Papers and books were scattered everywhere upon the floor, chairs wereoverturned, and the door of the safe was ajar. At first he saw no one,but when Peter entered the room he heard a sound from the corner beyondthe table, a sound halfway between a gasp and a groan, and there hefound his employer, Jonathan K. McGuire, doubled up on the floor, boundand trussed like his valet and quite as helpless. It was evident thatthe long awaited terror had come to Black Rock.

  But if he was dismayed and frightened it seemed that McGuire wasuninjured and when he was released he was lifted to his feet and achair, into which he sank speechless for a moment of rehabilitation.There was no need to question him as to what had happened in this room,for the evidences of Hawk's visit and its purpose were all too evident.Without a word to McGuire, Peter found the telephone in the hall, calledfor May's Landing, then turning the instrument over to Brierly, withinstructions as to what he was to do, returned to McGuire's room andclosed the door behind him.

  "Well, sir," he said briefly. "I see he's come."

  "My God, yes," gasped McGuire. "And you know what he came for--he gotit, Nichols. He got it."

  "That proves that he _had_ lost the duplicate," said Peter quietly. "Howdid it all happen?"

  The old man drew a trembling hand across his brow.

  "He took me off my guard--all of us. I don't know. It only happened halfan hour ago. Where's Stryker?"

  "He was tied to a chair in the kitchen. We let him loose. He's outsidesomewhere."

  "And Mrs. Bergen and Sarah?"

  "I don't know, sir."

  Peter went to the door and called Stryker and that bewildered personappeared at the foot of the steps with Mrs. Bergen and Sarah who hadbeen locked in the cellar. Peter called them up and they all beganscreaming their tale at once. But at last Peter got at the facts. HawkKennedy had come suddenly into the kitchen where the two women were and,brandishing a revolver, commanding silence, threatening death if theymade a sound. He had surprised the valet in the lower hall and hadmarched him back into the kitchen, where he had bound him to a chairwith a clothes-line and then gagged him.

  McGuire waved the trio out of the room when their story was told, andsignaled to Peter to close the door again, when he took up hisinterrupted tale.

  "I was at the window, looking out, Nichols. I didn't expect him for acouple of weeks anyway. I'd just about gotten my nerve back. But he gotthe drop on me, Nichols. How he ever got into the room without myhearin' him! I must have been in a trance. His shoes were off. The firstthing I know is a voice close at my ear and a gun in my ribs. I turnedquick--but my gun was in the table drawer. His face was close to mineand I knew he meant business. If I'd 'a' moved he'd 'a' killed me. So Iput my hands up. There wasn't anything else to do. I thought I'd playfor time but he caught my glance toward the door and only laughed.

  "'There ain't anybody comin', Mike,' he says. 'It's just you an' me.' Iasked him what he wanted and he grinned. 'You know,' he says. And withhis left hand he brought out a rope he had stuffed in his pocket. 'I'llfix _you_ first. Then we'll talk,' he says. He was cool like he alwayswas. He caught a
slip noose around my wrists before I knew it, twistedthe rope around me and threw me over on the floor. I tell you that manis the devil himself."

  "What then?"

  "He made me give up the keys to the drawers in the safe--it was openjust like it is now. I wouldn't speak at first but he kicked me and thenput the gun at my head. I still hoped some one would come. I gave in atlast. He found it. My God!" The old man aroused himself with an effortand rose to his feet. "But we've got to catch him--just you and I. Hecan't have gone far. We've got the right to shoot him now--to shoot onsight----"

  "Yes--yes. I'm getting the Sheriff at May's Landing now----"

  "The Sheriff!" The Irishman's small eyes stared and then became alive insudden comprehension. "Not the Sheriff, Nichols. I won't have him."

  "You've got to--at once." And then rapidly Peter gave an account of whathad happened at the logging camp. But it seemed to have no effect uponMcGuire, who listened with glassy eyes. He was obsessed with theother--the graver danger.

  "We'll keep this thing quiet if you like--the real meaning of thisvisit, and we've got to pick up his trail. But we can't let those men atthe camp have the run of the place. They'll be looting this house next."And then, as McGuire seemed to agree, Peter went to the door and foundBrierly still on the 'phone. He was talking to the Sheriff and had toldthe whole story. The Sheriff had already heard something about the BlackRock camp trouble and would be ready to move in an hour.

  "Tell him to move fast and to come to McGuire's first," said Peter. "Andyou'll be here to show him the way."

  Brierly nodded and finished the message, while Peter returned toMcGuire.

  "What else did Kennedy say?" Peter asked him.

  "He asked a lot of questions--about you and Beth Cameron--about themoney--about what I'd promised you. He's the very devil, I tell you. Heknows everything. He said he'd 'get' you and that he'd 'get' BethCameron."

  Peter caught McGuire fiercely by the shoulder. "What did you say? Areyou sure?"

  With all of his other troubles Peter had forgotten Beth and now thoughtguiltily of the possible danger to which she might have been subjected.

  How could Hawk have found out about Beth Cameron?

  "What I told you," muttered McGuire wearily, "he said he'd 'get'her----"

  Sick with anxiety, Peter flung away from his protesting employer andmade for the door, rushing past the astonished Brierly in the hall, downthe stairs and out at a run over the bridge and through the village tothe Bergen house. The door was open and he rushed in, calling Beth'sname. There was no response. Now desperate and fearing the worst, he ranfrom room to room, downstairs and up. There were signs of her--a towelon a chair, a broom leaning against a door upstairs, the neatly madebeds, the orderly kitchen, giving evidence of the morning cleaning, butno supper cooking on the stove, the fire of which had burned to cinders.She had not been here for a long while--since early morning possibly.But where had she gone--where? Hawk Kennedy would hardly have dared tocome here--to the village--hardly have succeeded in enticing her awayfrom this house, surrounded by neighbors--still less have succeeded incarrying her off without their knowledge. He rushed out into the roadand questioned. No one seemed to have seen her. The eagerness andsuppressed anxiety of Peter's manner quickly drew a crowd which felt thecontagion of his excitement. A man joined the group. Yes. He had seenBeth in the morning early. She was hurrying down the path which led intothe pines. He had not seen her since.

  Peter glanced at him just once more to be sure that he was speaking thetruth and then, without a thought as to the impression he had created inthe minds of the villagers, set off running through the path toward hiscabin.

  Fool that he had been! To leave Beth unguarded--unwarned even--with Hawkwithin a quarter of a mile of her. Why had he not seen the hand of fatein Beth's presence here at Black Rock near McGuire, the man who hadwronged her father--the hand of fate, which with unerring definitenesswas guiding the principals in this sordid tragedy together from the endsof the earth for a reckoning? And what was this reckoning to be? McGuirehad already fallen a victim to the man's devilish skill and audacity.And Beth----? What match was she for a clever desperate rogue who balkedat nothing? How had he learned of Beth's existence and how, knowing ofit, had he managed to beguile her away from the village? Peter wasbeginning to believe with McGuire that Hawk Kennedy was indeed in leaguewith the devil.

  Peter was not now aware of any pain or even of bodily fatigue, for therewas no room in his mind for any thought of self. Scarcely conscious ofhis new exertions, he ran across the log-jam below the pool and up thepath to the Cabin. What he expected to find there he did not know, butit seemed clear that Beth had come this way in the morning and if not tothe Cabin, where else? Hawk had been here when she had come into thewoodland path. That was enough. As he reached the turn in the path, hesaw that the door of the Cabin was open and when he rushed in, preparedfor anything, he saw that the room was unoccupied. He stood aghast for amoment, trying to adjust his mind to take in logically the evidence hefound there--the overturned chair, the blankets dragging on the floorby the bed, the broken water pitcher, the opened bureau drawers, thetorn bits of linen--parts of his own handkerchiefs--upon the floor--allvisible signs' of a commotion, perhaps of a struggle, that had takenplace. And then under the table he espied a square of heliotrope paper.He picked it up quickly and took it to the light of the window. It wasthe envelope of the letter he had received from Anastasie Galitzin. Andwhat was this----? A scrawl in Beth's hand, "You left _this_ last night.You'd better go back to Anastasie."

  Bewildered for a moment, Peter stared at the forceful characters of thehandwriting, written hurriedly in a scrawl of lead pencil, and then theprobable sequence of events came to him with a rush. She had opened thenote of Anastasie Galitzin and read it. What had it said? He hadforgotten details. But there were phrases that might have beenmisconstrued. And Beth----. He could see her now coming up the path, herhead high, seeking explanations--and meeting Hawk!

  But where was the letter itself? He searched for it without success.Hawk! The answer to all of his questions was in the personality of theman as Peter knew him. The bits of torn linen and Beth's ownhandkerchief, which he found in the corner of the bed against the wall,crumpled into a ball and still moist with her tears, were mute buteloquent evidences of her suffering and torture in the presence of thisman who had not been too delicate in the means by which he hadaccomplished her subjugation.

  Peter raged up and down the floor of the Cabin like a caged animal. Whatmust he do--which way turn? That Hawk had gagged and bound her wasobvious. But what then? He rushed outside and examined the shrubberyaround the Cabin. There was nothing to indicate the direction in whichhe had taken her--and the forest at his very elbow stretched for milesin all directions, a hiding place that had served other guilty onesbefore Hawk--the New Jersey pines that he had learned to love, nowwrapped in a conspiracy of silence. It would be dusk very soon. A searchof the pine barrens at night would be hopeless. Besides, Hawk had hadthe whole of the morning and most of the afternoon in which to carry outhis purpose.... What was that purpose? Where had he taken Beth? Wherehad he left her when he had returned to Black Rock House to rob McGuire?Or had he...? Impossible! Even Hawk wouldn't have dared.... Peterclenched his fists in agony and rage at the terrible thoughts that cameswarming into his brain, driving out all reason.

  His Highness had suffered greatly the last few years of his life, thephysical pain of wounds received in battle, the mental pain of fallinghopes, of fallen pride, of disillusionment, but he could not rememberany pain that had seemed to matter like the anguish of the presentmoment. The other sufferings were those of the Grand Duke PeterNicholaevitch, material sufferings born of his high estate. But thispresent suffering was primitive. It wrenched at the very fibers of theheart, for the love that he had found was a finer thing than had everhappened in his life, a love which asked nothing and only craved the joyof giving. And this woman--this mate that he had chosen out of all thewomen that he had known
in the world...!

  Hawk Kennedy would have fared badly if Peter could have had him withinarm's reach at that moment. But after a time, as Peter went into theCabin, he grew calmer, and pacing the floor for a while, began to thinkmore lucidly. Less than an hour ago Hawk Kennedy had been at Black RockHouse giving Jonathan McGuire and Stryker their unpleasant half-hour. Hewouldn't have dared to return and accomplish what he had done after adeed so terrible as that which had entered Peter's thoughts. He wasstill a human being and Beth.... He couldn't have killed Beth out ofhand. The thought was monstrous--even of Hawk.

  He had taken her somewhere--to one of his hiding-places in the woods,and proposed keeping her, the legal heir of Ben Cameron, for ransom, asa part of his plot to win his share of the McGuire fortune. He hadstolen the telltale agreement too and now held all the cards--all ofthem.

  Peter paused standing by the window seat, looking out at the leavesfalling in the rising wind, his mind already resolved on a plan. He wasabout to turn toward the telephone, when he noted a commotion in thebushes opposite his window. A flash of fire almost at the same moment, acrash of broken glass, and the hair on his head twitched violently.

  Instinctively Peter dropped to the floor.

  Close shooting! His scalp stung uncomfortably--but aside from that heknew that he was not hurt. A fraction of an inch lower----

  Hawk----! His first impulse had been to rush to the door--but the eventsof the day had taught him caution and so he crouched, drawing hisrevolver. Too much depended upon his existence at the present moment totake a chance in the open with a hidden enemy--especially if that enemywere Hawk Kennedy. He listened intently. No sound. Then the breaking ofa twig and the sibilance of whispering voices--two of them--perhapsmore. And still Peter did not move. His quick thinking had done him aservice. It was clear that the men outside had decided that the shot hadtaken effect.

  And now, instead of creeping to the doorway, Peter settled back upon thefloor again, prostrate, but in such a position that his eyes and hisrevolver commanded the entrance to the Cabin. He waited. It was anerve-racking business but the thought of all that depended upon hissafety steadied him into a preternatural calm like that which falls atthe presence of death. Death was imminent here for some one. It lurkedjust outside. It lurked in the finger that Peter held against thetrigger. And Peter meant that the adventure should end at the doorway.

  Presently he heard a gentle shuffling of feet outside and the whisperagain, this time quite distinctly, "You got him, I reckon."

  Whose voice was that? Not Hawk Kennedy's ... Peter lowered his head tohis arm and closed his eyes, watching the door-jamb through hiseyelashes, his revolver hidden but its muzzle in line. A bulky shadow onthe step, a foot and then a head cautiously protruded--that of ShadWells, followed immediately by another, swathed in a bandage which onlypartially concealed the dark eyes and beard of Yakimov the Russian. Ittook considerable exercise of will on Peter's part to remain quiescentwith the stare of those four eyes upon him, especially when he noted theweapon in the fingers of the Russian. But he waited until the two mengot into the room.

  "There he is. You got him, Yakimov," said Shad with a laugh.

  "Perhaps----" Peter heard, "but I'll make sure of it----"

  Yakimov's pistol rose slowly, halfway to the level of his eyes. But itwas never fired, for Peter's revolver flashed fire, twice--three times,and Yakimov with a sudden wide stare at vacancy pitched forward andcrashed down. The surprise was complete, for a fourth shot went into theright arm of Shad Wells, which ruined his shot and sent his weaponclattering to the floor.

  Peter had taken Shad's measure once before and the memory of the blowfrom the axhandle earlier in the day did nothing to soften Peter'sintent. The quick command as he scrambled to his feet and the sight ofthe imminent weapon caused Shad suddenly to forget everything but thedesire, whatever else happened, not to die as Yakimov had done. And sohe put his hands up--staggering back against the wall. Peter, with hisweapon still covering Shad, put his fingers over Yakimov's heart. Theman was dead. Then he rose soberly and faced Shad.

  "I ought to kill you like the dog that you are," he said tensely, "but Iwant to question you first. Stand over by the bed."

  Shad obeyed and Peter, watching him closely, picked up his weapon andYakimov's and examined them carefully, putting one in his pocket andlaying the other beside him on the mantel. But all the fight was out ofShad, who stood stupidly while Peter bound his wrists behind him. Theman was badly hurt, but it was no time for Peter to be playing the goodSamaritan.

  "So much for keeping bad company," said Peter coolly. "You'll find moreof the same sort in the lock-up at May's Landing."

  "You daresn't send me there," muttered Shad, with a feeble attempt atbravado.

  "Won't I? You'll see--for attempted murder. The Sheriff is on his wayhere now. Have you anything to say?"

  Shad was silent, eying the dead man.

  "Oh, very well," said Peter. He closed and locked the door and, keepingthe man covered with his revolver, moved to the telephone and gotMcGuire at Black Rock House, telling him in a few phrases what hadhappened.

  "Yes, Yakimov the Russian--I shot him.... Yes.... I killed him. It wasto save my own life.... Shad Wells.... A prisoner. Send Brierly with acar down here at once. Hawk has been here too and has met Beth Cameron... God knows. He has taken her away with him somewhere--abductedher.... Yes ... Yes ... I've got to find her. Yes, _Beth_--can't youunderstand?... She came here to bring me a letter ... I found it. Hawkwas here early this morning.... I know it. He bound her with some of myhandkerchiefs ... No, there's no doubt of it--none at all.... I can'tstand here talking. Send Brierly at once. Understand?"

  And Peter hung up the receiver and turned toward Shad, who was leaningforward toward him, his face pale, his mouth agape at what he had heard.But Peter, unaware of the sudden transformation in his prisoner, onlyglanced at him and bending over began a search of the pockets of thedead man, when Shad's voice cut the silence----

  "You--you say----," he stammered chokingly, "you say B-Beth has beenabducted, Mister--Beth Cameron?"

  Peter straightened, his eyes searching the lumberman's face.

  "Yes. To-day--this morning," he answered crisply. "What of it? Do youknow anything----?"

  "Hawk Kennedy took her?" the man faltered. "Are you sure?"

  Peter sprang up, his eyes blazing with eagerness.

  "What do you know of Hawk Kennedy?" he cried. And then, as Shad seemedsuddenly to have been stricken dumb, Peter seized him by the shoulderand shook him. "Speak! Do you know Hawk Kennedy?"

  "Yes," said Shad in a bewildered way. "I do--but Beth----"

  "He's taken her away--don't you understand?"

  "W-Why?"

  "God knows," said Peter wildly. "It's part of a plot--againstMcGuire--to get money. Do you know where he is? Do you know where he'sgone with her? Speak, man! Or must I----?"

  "I know him. I've seen him----," muttered Shad with a hang-dog air.

  "To-day?"

  "No."

  Peter gasped in disappointment, but still questioned quickly.

  "Where did you see him?"

  "Down near the camp. He came back again yesterday. He'd been away----"

  "Yes, yes, I know. What did he say?"

  "Oh, he was very peart--swaggered around like he owned the place andtalked about a lot of money he was goin' to have. An' how he was----"

  "Do you know where he took Beth Cameron?" broke in Peter again.

  "No. I don't--My God--_him!_"

  "Yes, _him_. You know what it means. He'd kill her if he dared."

  "Would he? My God! Mister. You can't let----"

  "No. No." And then, sharply, "Speak up, Wells, and I'll set you free. Doyou know where he could have taken her?"

  "I'm not sure, but maybe----"

  "Where----?"

  "He stayed down at the Forks----"

  "Yes. But he wouldn't have dared to take her there----"

  "No. That's so. Maybe----"


  "Where?"

  "Some other place----"

  "Of course. Was there any other place that he knew about?"

  "Yes, there was. But when he first came he rode down on a horse fromHammonton."

  "Yes, yes. Go on. And later----"

  "He used to come around the camp for food. It was when you first came onthe job. But he bought it and paid for it."

  "I don't care about that. Where was he hiding?"

  "Back in the woods. He used to sleep in the old tool house down by thecedar swamp."

  Peter was now on edge with excitement.

  "Do you think he'd be likely to take Beth there?"

  "How should I know? Maybe he took her to Hammonton or Egg Harbor."

  "No. He wouldn't have had time. Where's this tool house?"

  "About half a mile from the mills."

  "Could you show me the way?"

  "I reckon I could----," Shad Wells sank into a chair and bent his head."My God! Mister. If I'd only 'a' known! If you'd only let me help you--Ican't stand thinkin' of anythin' happenin' to Beth--you an' me--we ain'tgot along, an' maybe you've got the upper hand of me, but----"

  "We've got to forget that now," put in Peter quickly, and taking out hishasp knife he cut the cords that bound Shad's wrists. "Just to show youthat I mean what I say." And then, soberly, "You know these woods. Helpme to find Beth Cameron and I'll make no charge against you. Is that abargain?"

  "Yes, Mister."

  Peter glanced at his face and at the blood dripping from his fingerends. The man was suffering much pain but he hadn't whimpered.

  "All right. Take off your coat and I'll tie your arm up first."

  Silently Shad rose and obeyed while Peter got water and washed thewound, a clean one right through the muscles of the forearm. But nobones were broken and Peter bandaged it skillfully. Shad clenched hisjaws during the washing of the wound but he said nothing more. Peterknew that the man still hated him but he knew also that Shad was nowpowerless to do him any injury, and that there was a tie to bind themnow into this strange alliance. As Peter finished the bandaging and wasimprovising a sling for the wounded arm, Shad crumpled side-long uponthe edge of the bed, his face ghastly, and would have fallen to thefloor if Peter hadn't held him upright, and half carried him to thearmchair. Then Peter unlocked a cupboard and brought forth whisky,giving Shad half a tumblerful and in a moment the man began to revive.So Peter poured another glass and slowly Shad pulled himself together.

  "Perhaps you're not up to it----," Peter began.

  But Shad wagged his head with some determination.

  "Yes, I--I'm up to it all right. I've got to go, Mister. We'll find herif she's in these woods----"

  "Bully for you. Feeling better now?"

  Shad nodded and then raised his head, staring with a frown out of thewindow by the piano. Peter had been so absorbed in his task of settingthe man to rights that he had not noticed the dull glow that had risenin the southern sky. And following Shad's glance he turned his head andlooked out of the window. At first he thought it might be the afterglowof the sunset until a word from Shad aroused him to the realsignificance of the light.

  "Fire!" gasped the lumberman.

  "Fire!" echoed Peter, aghast.

  "They've set the woods afire, Mister," muttered Shad helplessly.

  At the same moment the telephone from the house began janglingfuriously. It was McGuire, who had made the same discovery.

  "Yes," replied Peter to the hysterical questions. "It's the lumber camp.They've broken loose and set the woods afire. You've got to get all themen you can together and rush them down there. Where's Brierly? On theway? Oh, all right. Good. He'll take me down and I'll send him back....Yes. I've got a clew to Hawk ... I don't know, but I'm going to try it.I'm taking Shad Wells with me ... The old tool house by the cedar swamp.Brierly will know. Send the men on in relays when they come--withshovels and sacks.... What did you say?... What?... Oh, 'D----n thewoods.'... All right. I'll get the paper if I can ... Yes. It's myaffair as much as yours now.... Yes.... Good-by."

  Peter hung up the receiver and turned to Shad, who had risen, his arm inthe sling, just as Brierly came running up the path to the door.