The Bungalow Boys in the Great Northwest

The rancher’s exclamation was followed by a sharp report, all the more deafening for the tiny space in which they were confined. Tom threw himself on his face, and so did the others, waiting a second and a more terrible shock.

But it didn’t come. For once in his life Chillingworth, who was rated a first-class shot, had missed his target.

CHAPTER XXII.

MUTINY

“Flunked!” choked out the rancher, with a bitter little laugh. He handed the pistol to Tom.

“Here, you try. I’m free to admit that I haven’t the grit to go through with it again.”

Tom took the pistol almost mechanically. His disappointment was as keen as that of the others. They had keyed themselves up to the last notch of courage and determination, it seemed, and now it was all to be done over again. No wonder that the Kanakas’ reserve gave way under the strain, and that they sat chattering hysterically as Tom dully examined the chambers of the revolver.

Right then he made a discovery that startled him. Their next attempt would be their last in very fact. Evidently Lake had been firing off his pistol before they set out for the hills – target practice was a common diversion of his, – and only two shells had been left in the chamber when Tom appropriated the weapon. Chillingworth had fired one, leaving a solitary cartridge undischarged.

Without another word – without even notifying them of his discovery, – Tom balanced the revolver for an instant in his hand, and then taking fair aim hesitated no longer, but pulled the trigger.

Hardly had his finger crooked before the sharp crack of the pistol was followed by another roar, infinitely more awful and awe-inspiring. A blast of hot gas swept back in their faces, and Tom felt himself being picked up bodily by some mysterious force and dashed against the rock. He realized no more. How much later he recovered his senses he did not know, but he opened his eyes to find daylight streaming into the cave.

Under the tremendously powerful forces of Professor Dingle’s explosive the great rocking stone had been, not blown to bits, but literally melted away. But this they did not find out till later. Tom’s first task was to arouse the others who lay in a semi-stupor all about him. He got the water canteen which had been brought with them and dashed some of its contents in his companions’ faces. Presently they began to stir. Except for a cut above the professor’s eye, where a flying stone had struck him, they were uninjured.

But the gases of the explosive had given them all splitting headaches, and as soon as they had recovered enough to be able to stand upright they hastened toward the glorious daylight which came pouring in – the daylight they thought they had forever bidden farewell to.

The storm had passed away, only distant grumblings of thunder remaining to tell of it. The sky was blue and clear once more. The lowness of the sun showed that it must be late in the afternoon. They must, therefore, have lain unconscious for some time. The first thing to be done was, of course, to make all haste away from the spot. A glance about them showed that by good fortune the ledge of rock remained intact. But at its edge, and quite close to them, lay a curious object which it was some time before they made out to be a rifle.

It must have been Simon Lake’s, and the weapon had probably been torn from his pocket by some freak of the same shaft of lightning that sent him to his death in the depths below. The electric fluid had actually melted the steel and fused stock, lock and barrel into one mass of molten metal. Tom shuddered as he thought of the shock that must have passed through Lake when the bolt struck.

A feeling of gloom came over the party, for base as Lake had been in life the manner of his death was surely a terrible one. Perhaps it was a retribution for his wild, lawless life. Tom at least felt that perhaps this was so. One thing was certain, the depths of the narrow rift would prove his sepulchre, for to have recovered his body from those profundities would have been impossible.

“Boss, me think me know um way to de cove wot bad man tell about,” said Monday suddenly, as they were discussing their next step.

“You do? Good boy!” cried Tom; “then lead ahead.”

“Yes, go in front,” said the professor, “but first tell us how you come to know anything about the path.”

“Long time ago, boss, as I tell you, me here in whaler,” said Monday; “captain he bad man. Beat me and Tuesday. Pretty soon we desert. We come hide up in here. Find plenty paths every place.”

Before many minutes they had climbed the steep flight of natural steps leading to the cliff summit, and stood there with a glorious panorama at their feet. At least the beauty was there to be enjoyed had they had the inclination or the opportunity to gaze upon it.

To the south lay the settlement. Its huts looked like tiny toys from that height, and at that distance. Between them and the settlement the dark gorge stretched forbiddingly, and beyond the gorge the eye rested on the endless wastes of greenish-brown thicket. All about was stretched the sea, and perhaps they did scan this rather more closely than they had the rest of the outlook. But if any of them had hoped to spy a vessel – as men will hope for vain things – they were disappointed. The vast stretches of ocean about them were as empty of life as a desert. Under the sun the waves glistened and danced as if in mockery of their helplessness.

“Well, what’s the course now?” inquired Mr. Chillingworth presently, with an assumption of cheerfulness.

“We will head through the bush under Monday’s guidance,” said the professor, “and find the boat which Lake mentioned as being moored in the cove. When we have found it we will row as close to the settlement as we dare and try in some way to secure food. But, of course, you do not need to be told that my main object in going there is to recover my boy. It was a grievous oversight not to have brought him with us; but it cannot be helped now. I think it only fair to add that if any one is opposed to my program that I will strike off alone when we reach the coast and the rest of you can take the boat.”

“As if we would!” said Tom. “No, sir, we’ll stand by you, and if we get recaptured trying to get your boy, why, we won’t be any worse off than we were before.”

“That’s right,” agreed Mr. Chillingworth, “we’ll stay with you till the finish, professor.”

As Monday and Tuesday had appeared to entertain no doubts as to their place being at the professor’s side, no more words were exchanged. A start was at once made down the rough path Monday declared would lead them in due course to the cove where the boat, which Zeb Hunt and Lake had used on their visits to the cave, was moored. After some time spent in laboriously traversing slippery rocks and pushing through thorny scrub, they emerged at length on the shores of a small cove.

Tom gave a shout as he discerned under some overhanging bushes the outline of a small white boat secured to the same clump which partially concealed it from view.

“The boat!” he cried. “So Lake did tell us the truth, after all.”

“Unfortunate fellow,” said the professor; “I am glad that almost his last words to us were not fabrications.”

The little craft was soon cast loose, and with the two pairs of oars found in her, the Kanakas made her fairly skim over the water. Although they were by no means out of their peril yet, and were tired, hungry and thirsty, the adventurers could not repress a low cheer as the boat forged forward. At least they had a good boat under them, and the ocean before them when once they had secured the professor’s little boy and a store of provisions.

The sun’s disc was almost dipping below the western rim of the sea as they emerged from the cove, and the Kanakas, keeping cautiously close to the shore, began to pull down the coast toward the settlement. By the time they were approaching a little wooded point jutting out from the main part of the island it was almost dark.

“Beyond that point lies the settlement, according to my calculations,” said Mr. Chillingworth. “I think our best plan would be to run the boat ashore at this side of the point and then clamber over the little neck of land. In that way we can see what is going on and how the land lies without exposing our lives unnecessarily.”

The others agreed with him that this would be the best course to pursue, so drawing the boat up on the beach, taking care that some trees sheltered it from view, they set out to cross the neck of land.

It was almost as rough traveling as on the trail, and in their exhausted condition it took them longer than it ordinarily would to attain the eminence. When they finally reached the summit, however, and were able to see the other side, they saw that Mr. Chillingworth’s guess had been right. The settlement lay at their feet. In the dim dusk the outlines of the big barnlike place where the Chinese were housed, towered up starkly. Out in the lagoon they could see the dark outlines of the schooner as she swung at her anchorage.

But as they gazed there came a startling sound: the sharp report of a pistol, followed by a regular fusillade of shots.

The uproar seemed to come from the centre of the collection of huts and shanties, and down toward the beach. While they stood gazing, dumb with astonishment at this new surprise, a tongue of flame flickered upward from one of the structures, and rapidly grew larger. The conflagration momentarily roared higher, crimsoning the sky and sea with a lurid glow.

“It’s the store!” cried Tom as he gazed at the raging fire, “something terrible has happened.”

“Mutiny and riot!” struck in Mr. Chillingworth, as a wild noise of shouts and yells and confused shooting was borne to their ears.

CHAPTER XXIII.

HEMMED IN BY FLAMES

“I guess that this is as far as it will be safe to come.”

It was Mr. Chillingworth who spoke. The little party had, by painfully creeping forward down the side of the jutting headland, managed to reach a position in the rear of the big shed which housed the Chinese under ordinary conditions. It now appeared, though, that it was empty. Doubtless its occupants had either fled in terror or had joined in the mad rioting.

From their point of vantage they had a clear view of all that was happening within the settlement itself, lit up as the place was by the glare-light.

They could see men rushing about the streets, if such the thoroughfares between the shanties could be called. The red glow of the flames shone on their faces, swollen and heated by the fire and excitement, and perhaps by liquor, too. For they could see where a group had gathered about a big cask and was broaching it freely.

“Good heavens,” exclaimed the rancher, “if they have started drinking what will happen?”

The professor uttered a groan. Anxiety for his boy was preying cruelly on him. He had all he could do to keep himself from rushing out from their hiding place and boldly demanding the lad, be the consequences what they might.

Hitherto, however, the counsel of the others had prevented his taking such a mad step. In the present mood of the men there was no telling to what lengths their folly might lead them. All felt that it would be dangerous to cross any of them for the present at least.

Suddenly a louder shout than the frenzied whoops and yells with which the mutineers had been making the night hideous, rent the air. It came from the neighborhood of the flames which were now dying down. Evidently something was taking place out of the ordinary.

“They’re coming this way!” shouted the professor presently; “what can have happened now!”

Nearer and nearer grew the babel of shouts. All at once, from around the corner of one of the huts appeared the figure of a man. He was running. Even at the distance at which they stood they could catch his sharp, quick breaths. Whoever the runner was he was almost spent. He carried some object in his arms, too. It looked like a sack of some sort.