by Roy J. Snell
"Do you know," said Florence teasingly, "I believe I have five pounds offish? You have tried all afternoon for a five pounder, and got nothing.In life one should humbly accept that which comes, and hope for biggerthings."
"I wonder." Tillie studied her face with tired eyes. "I wonder if that'sso, or do you win best if you insist on having only the big things?"
"I suppose," Florence replied, "that one does that which one's naturedemands. I can't throw a good perch away. You can't keep one. It's aqueer old world."
"It is!" Tillie punctuated her remark with a vigorous overhand throw thatlanded her minnow far out into the darkening water.
"Watch!" she exclaimed a moment later. "See that line go out! It's abass!"
There is nothing sweeter than the swift run of a bass before he turns hisminnow and swallows it.
Zing! Tillie snapped the line. "Hooked!" she exclaimed, planting her feetfar apart.
The ripples had subsided. The water was like polished steel at thesurface. Yet one could see far into those mysterious depths.
"See!" she exclaimed tensely. "I've got him! The big one! And how meeklyhe comes in!"
What she said seemed true. She was reeling in rapidly. At the same time amonster of the lake, such a bass as Florence had never dreamed of, cameracing toward the boat.
Three yards, five, he shot forward. Florence stared. The expression onTillie's face was a strange thing to see. Hope, joy, triumph vied therewith fear, distrust, despair. It was her great chance. She had staked allin the one cast. Was she to win or lose?
During all this time the afterglow of the sun had lighted the water. Inan instant, without warning, it faded and near darkness came. Not sosoon, however, but that the girls were able to witness a strange sight.With a sudden stop and whirl, the big bass changed course and shot away.But Tillie's reel? It did not spin. She still reeled in. A steady tugheld her line taut. Ten seconds later a beautiful green-tinted bass,weighing perhaps a pound, broke the water and landed with scarcely astruggle in the boat.
What had happened? This little one and the giant companion had fought forthe deadly minnow. He had won.
For fully half a minute, while the end of twilight became night, Tilliestood staring at her catch. He had flapped himself loose from the lineand lay there in the boat snapping about.
Suddenly she seized him and threw him far into the rushes. Then shedropped into a seat to hide her face in her hands.
Tillie was of the emotional type. Some people are. What of it? Theirs isthe privilege to weep or to shout for joy. Tillie wept.
But what was this? Of a sudden their boat gave a lurch that sent Florencesprawling over the stern seat.
What had happened? Her eyes told her in an instant. Her heart went to herthroat. A speed boat, with power shut off, had glided upon themunobserved. The now invisible occupants had seized their anchor line,then started their powerful motor. They were now headed for the outermostpoint of land and the open sea.
"They've got us!" Tillie exclaimed. "They've got us!"
"Who?" Florence screamed. "In the name of all that's good, who?"
Tillie did not reply. She was making her way forward.
CHAPTER XXII KIDNAPPED
"They are carrying us away!" Florence cried. Her tone was that ofdespair.
"We must cut the tiller," was Tillie's answer.
"Then they'll run us down, as they did Jeanne and me."
"No matter! We must cut the tiller!"
"But how? We have no knife."
Tillie thought a moment. Then once more she crept forward toward thebobbing prow. Once there, she gripped the boat's gunwale, reached farforward, then set her teeth in the strong rope.
The tiller was an extra thick one, and quite new. Nature had providedTillie with a most excellent set of teeth. She used them now with a skillborn of despair. Both she and Florence were strong swimmers. Though theirboat were wrecked, they might still reach land.
"If only we do not get out of the channel," she thought as she renewedher attack on the stubborn strands of rope.
As they left Hoyt's Bay behind, the water grew rougher. Shooting forward,the slight rowboat plowed through waves instead of riding over them.Tillie was drenched to the skin. There were times when her very form waslost in spray. Yet she stuck to her post.
Night had come. There was no moon. The sky was black. The sea was black.The night was cold. Florence shuddered. Then, feeling the water creepingover her feet, she began to bail.
Tillie's task was half done. How stout the rope was. The pull on it wastremendous, yet with half the strands cut, the boat rode on.
"How--how many more strands?" she asked herself as she spat out amouthful of bristly fibre.
"Soon it will be too late," she told herself. No longer could shedistinguish land from water, but years of experience told her that theywere fast leaving land behind, that they would, in a very brief space oftime, be in the open waters of Lake Huron.
"And then--" she breathed. She dare not think.
The rope was at last three-fourths eaten away. The strain on theremaining strands was telling. They were beginning to stretch whensuddenly a final cowardly and brutal act capped the atrocities of theheartless invisible ones. Had they been watching? Did they know thegirl's purpose? Had they judged their position? Who knows? Enough that ofa sudden their boat gave a swerve to the right. It executed a curve thatno light rowboat could endure. Next instant the girls found themselvespitched head foremost into the icy waters, while their empty boat spedon.
Florence struck out with hands and feet. She gave herself half a minuteto regain composure. Then she looked for Tillie. Tillie was swimming withone hand while she shook a belligerent fist at the fast disappearingspeed boat.
"Well!" she exclaimed when she had completed this ceremony to hersatisfaction. "We are free!"
"Free as a gull. Where's land?"
"I don't know."
"How long can you swim?"
"A long time. How long can you?"
"A long time. But in this water?"
"I don't know. Boo! It's cold. Let's swim."
"Where to?"
"I don't know."
At that moment, as if in answer to an unuttered prayer, a strange thinghappened. A golden light shone across the water. A golden disk appearedon the horizon.
"The moon! Thank--thank God!" Tillie's tone was reverent.
"The moon, yes," said Florence. "It usually rises."
"But can't you see? It's not rising behind water, but trees. That's GooseIsland over there. It's three miles from the mainland."
"What's Goose Island?"
"It's where we go fishing through the ice in winter."
"Anybody live there?"
"No."
"Any cabins?"
"No."
"Then--"
Florence stopped herself. She was about to say that outside a cabin, withno fire, drenched to the skin, they would be chilled to death, when avoice seemed to whisper, "One thing at a time. Only one."
"We'll swim for it," she said quietly. "How far do you think it is?"
"Two miles, perhaps."
Two miles! Her heart sank.
"But the wind and waves are with us. We'll make it."
"The winds and the waves obey Thy will," rang through Florence's ears."Yes," she replied, "we will make it."
For a long time there was no sound save the dip-dip of their strong armsand the occasional swirl of a whitecap as it broke near them.
CHAPTER XXIII STRANGE DELIVERANCE
An hour passed and still two dark spots, like markers for a gill net,rose above the waves. The moon, rising higher and higher, brought outmore distinctly the ragged tree line of Goose Island.
At times the weary girls turned on their backs to float like so muchlifeless driftwood. When their weary muscles had gained renewed strength,they began their task again.
Th
ere were times when Florence, stout-hearted though she was, was temptedto give up hope. At such times she envisioned the rocky beach, thecabinless forest of scrub trees that must grace the surface of theisland. She felt, too, the chill of the wind that must await them there.
"What's the use?" she asked herself many times. And always the answercame, "One step at a time is enough for me." She must trust the future.
As for Tillie, she never faltered. Such is the soul of one bred to therigor, the suffering and perils of the north country. It accepts thecondition that each moment offers and awaits the rest. Who will say thatthis, as a rule of life, is not best?
"Cheerio, old thing!" Tillie exclaimed at last. "Another quarter of anhour, and we will be there."
There was courage in her voice, but a look of utter weariness in her eye.
"Will she last?" Florence drew one more portion from her reservestrength, prepared, if need be, to see her gallant friend through.
Her aid was not needed. The sturdy muscles and vigorous heart of thisbackwoods girl carried her through. Certainly no city cousin of hers whostarves her body and poisons her blood to obtain a slim and gracefulfigure could have done as much. Who wants to be a wisp that contains asoul? Who would not rather be a Greek goddess?
They landed at last upon a broad and pebbly beach.
As they crept up away from the waves, the sharp pebbles brought no painto hands and knees. They were benumbed by cold, too exhausted to feelpain.
Yet, after Tillie had laid there for a moment, she drew herself to asitting position to say an astonishing thing.
"Florence," she exclaimed, "we'll get that old black bass yet!"
In spite of the cold and exhaustion, Florence laughed. The laugh did themboth good.
"If we are going to do that," she said, rising stiffly, "we will have tokeep moving. If we don't, we'll be no better than the wreck of theHesperus. Let's go somewhere. It's a little late, but some place on theisland may still be open. A ham and egg place. Haven't any money, butthey'll trust us. We look _so_ honest, and our clothes are _so_ spick andspan." She looked at Tillie, in her blouse that clung like a rag andknickers that turned her slim legs into pipe stems, and laughed again.
"Come on," said Tillie, struggling to keep up the illusion. "I know aplace to go."
She made her way up the gravel beach to a spot where the surface wassoft, sandy and half overgrown with grass. Then they started to skirt theshore.
They had not gone a hundred yards before Florence began to feel thatTillie was leading a lost hope. The wind was rising. The cold seemed morebitter.
"Never will stand it," she told herself with grim conviction. "Never inthe world!"
Still she trudged on. Her limbs were growing stiff, her eyes blurred. Asthey rounded a clump of scrub birch trees, she thought her eyes deceivedher. There appeared to be something over there that was not a tree; asmall square thing like an overgrown chimney.
"Look!" She pulled Tillie by the arm. "Look, Tillie! Is there somethingover there?"
Tillie looked, then cried out for very joy.
"It's a fish shanty! Daddy Red Johnson's fish shanty! He left it herewinter before last. Then he died. Nobody touched it. Oh, thank God!"
She dropped to her knees, but was up in an instant.
"It doesn't look like a shanty," said Florence as they approached it."Looks like a tall box."
"That's about all it is. Four sides and a roof. Three feet square. Just aprotection from wind and snow while you fish.
"But oh, good old Daddy Johnson, if you see us now," she murmured,talking to the sky, "you know we need your fish shanty a heap worse thanyou ever did!
"Here's the door," she said a moment later. "Walk right in and makeyourself at home."
Inside this curious box-like affair, which is moved so easily over theice during the winter fishing, there was only standing room for two.
But how warm it seemed! "As if there were a fire." Florence hugged Tilliefor very joy. Then she thanked the Creator of all for this miraculousdeliverance.
"It's going to be hard," she told herself, as she thought of standingthere all night, "but we'll make it. And to-morrow we will improve ourcondition.
"Do boats pass this island?" she asked.
"Only very far away."
"Could they see a signal flag of distress?"
"I doubt it. Besides, they wouldn't be looking for it. No one is everstranded here.
"Speaking of fire," mused Tillie, returning to the old subject, "DaddyRed Johnson used to keep a few sticks in the upper corner.
"Here they are!" she cried as her hand searched the corner.
"Everybody liked Daddy Red Johnson." There were tears in her voice. "Hewas a good man. Nobody would touch his things, not even after he wasdead.
"He always kept a box of matches right down here." Her hand groped for amoment. Then such a shout of joy!
"Here they are! Saved, Florence!"
With trembling fingers she drew out a safety match and struck it on thebox. It flared out cheerily, dispelling the dark.
"Come on!" she cried. "We'll carry this shanty to the beach. We'll builda roaring fire before it and be all warm and dry before you know it."
As they tumbled out of the shanty, then tipped it over, something fell tothe ground with a thud. It was a short handled axe.
"I forgot the axe," said Tillie, tucking it under her arm. "He used thatfor cutting his hole through the ice, Daddy Red Johnson did. Shouldn'twonder if his fish line was here, too."
CHAPTER XXIV OUTBOUND IN THE NIGHT
Petite Jeanne was disturbed. Nine o'clock had come and passed.Reluctantly she made tea and drank it alone. Florence was not back. Itwas strange.
"They went fishing, she and Sun-Tan Tillie," she said to Tico, the bear."One does not fish at night, unless it is for bull-heads. And who wishesfor bull-heads? Bah! They are like snakes. You cut off their heads, andstill they bite your finger."
Ten o'clock found her pacing the floor. Having at last arrived at adecision, she dressed hurriedly in knickers and a heavy jacket, drew apair of men's rubber boots on over her shoes, called to Tico, and wentout.
There was, she knew, a trail through the forest to the village. She hadnever followed it. She dared try it now. So, armed only with aflashlight, with the bear at her heels, she set out.
She was disturbed more than she cared to admit, even to herself. Shefeared, not for herself, but for Florence. All these strange, half toldtales that had reached her ears, tales of gamblers and lady detectives,of strange water gypsies and half savage bears, had worked upon herimagination. One who knows no fear for his own safety is often the firstto fear for others. Such was the nature of the little French girl. So shestarted out over an unknown trail at night in search of aid.
The trail was long and winding. More than once she lost herself. It wasboggy in places. There was need for boots. At times she was obliged totake one step at a time, then lift the other foot out of the mud by theboot straps.
When at last she reached the silent, sleeping village, she was nearexhaustion. The silence of the village frightened her more than thelonely forest.
"It is as if everyone in the world were dead," she told herself throughteeth that chattered.
"I must find that boy, Turkey Trot," she said to Tico. "He may knowsomething."
A faint light at the rear of Tillie's house was reassuring. Someone wasthere.
She knocked loudly at the door. A boy appeared with a lamp held high overhis head.
The lamp descended with a crash. Fortunately it went out. The boy, whowas Turkey Trot, had seen the bear, and had not seen Jeanne standing inthe shadows. He vanished.
Driven to desperation, Jeanne sprang after him, seized him by the collar,and flashed her light in his eyes.
"Why do you run?" she demanded fiercely. "Where is my friend? Where isFlorence?"
"It was the bear!" Turkey Trot still trembled. "Where is Tillie?"
&nb
sp; "You do not know?"
"Not me."
"And you are alone?"
"Folks went to the Soo this morning. Be back to-morrow.
"But I got a motor, an outboard motor," he added cheerfully. "Man gave itto me this morning. It's a hummer. Plenty of boats. We'll go find them.Broke an oar, like as not."
"Oh! Do you think so? Could we?"
This tow-headed boy had suddenly become a savior in Jeanne's eyes.
"What'll we do with the bear?" the boy asked doubtfully.
"Do you think we could take him?"
"Don't he bite?"
"Tico? Never! He is tame. Oh, very!"
"We might try."
Ten minutes later an outboard motor began its put-put-put. A sixteen footboat with Jeanne in the prow, Turkey Trot in the stern, and the ponderousbear in the middle, was headed out toward Gull Rock Point.
"Know where they fish, I do," Turkey Trot shouted above the noise of themotor. "Find 'em out there somewhere."
"Perhaps," Jeanne whispered to herself. There was doubt in her mind andmisgiving in her heart. Florence had not stayed out like that before,without announcing her purpose. And there were strange doings about, verystrange doings indeed.
The water was black with the peculiar blackness that is night. The pathof pale light cast across it by the moon only served to intensify thatblackness. From time to time Jeanne sent a narrow pencil of light fromher electric torch. In a wavering circle this light searched the sea. Itsefforts were in vain. No craft was on the water at all at that late hour.Florence and Tillie, as you know, were far away.
