As the hermit turned away he happened to glance into the tent, the front of which was still open. The firelight shone in and fell on the face of the tired child, who was sleeping sweetly.
The man paused, staring at the face revealed by the flickering light. His hand was lifted to his head, and he swayed unsteadily on his feet, his face marked by a look of astonishment and pain.
Old Rocks, Professor Scotch, and the boys watched the hermit's every movement with breathless wonderment. They were impressed, they were held spellbound, they scarcely breathed.
For some moments the strange man stood there, and then, inch by inch, step by step, he advanced toward the tent. He seemed trying to hold back, yet there appeared to be some power dragging him toward the sleeping child.
Frank's first thought was that the man might harm Fay, but the look on the face of the hermit told that he had no such intention. Into the tent he crept, and he knelt beside the bed on which little Fay was sleeping, gazing longingly into her pretty face. A sob came from the depths of his broad breast, and, finally, he stooped and lightly kissed the child's cheek. As he did so, the little girl murmured in her dreams:
"Papa!"
The hermit sprang up, leaped away, and, with a low cry of intense pain, fled into the darkness.
* * *
CHAPTER XXVIII.
VANISHING OF LITTLE FAY.
For some moments after the strange man had disappeared the guide, the professor, and the boys sat staring into the darkness in the direction he had taken.
"Wa-al, dog my cats!"
The exclamation came from Old Rocks, who had ceased to pull at the black pipe for the time being.
"Thot bates th' band!"
Barney Mulloy could not express the astonishment he felt.
"What can that mean?"
Professor Scotch rose from the hammock, asking the question in a bewildered manner.
"I can tell you what it means," said Frank, also rising to his feet. "It seems to me there is but one explanation. Fay told me her father was not with her mother, that she had not seen him for a long time, and that her mamma cried when he went away. I believe there was some kind of trouble between the child's parents, and that the one who is known as the hermit, who calls himself 'the man without a name or a home,' is the father of that child."
"Wa-al," drawled Old Rocks, "you may be a tenderfoot an' a kid, but yer has a little hawse sense. Ef you ain't right, I'll chaw my boots fer terbacker!"
"It certainly seems that you are right, Frank," nodded the little professor. "The man was drawn into the camp by your songs, he was fascinated when he saw the sleeping child, and he fled, with a cry of pain, when she murmured 'papa.' Yes, it seems quite certain that the hermit is the child's father."
"Ef thet is right, things is comin' round sing'ler," said the guide. "Ef you kids hedn't seen ther Injuns crawlin' up on ther bufferler you wouldn't got inter ther scrape ye did; ef ye hedn't got inter thet scrape ye wouldn't found ther babby; if yer hedn't found ther babby it's likely she might hev starved ur bin eaten by wild critters; ef Frank hedn't sung them songs ther hermit w'u'dn't come inter camp; ef he hedn't come inter camp he w'u'dn't seen ther leetle gal; an' ef he hedn't seen ther leetle gal we'd never suspected he wuz her father."
This was an unusually long speech for Old Rocks, who was given to short, crusty sentences.
"Do you know where this man lives?" asked Scotch.
"Wa-al, I dunno prezactly, but I reckon I kin find him ag'in."
"That is important; he must be found. The mother of this child must be taken to him. In that way a reunion may be brought about. Probably the unfortunate woman is quite distracted to-night. In the morning we will lose no time in finding her and restoring the child to her arms."
For some time they sat about the fire, discussing the strange events of the day. Finally, all became sleepy, and it was decided that they had better "turn in."
As Old Rocks seemed to sleep "with one eye open," they had not found it necessary to have any one stand guard since he had been with them. No wild animal could come prowling about the camp without arousing the old fellow in a moment.
The fire was replenished, the flap of the tent left open, so the warmth might enter, as the nights were rather cool, and the party retired.
In a short time all were sleeping soundly.
Frank's slumber was dreamless, but he was finally aroused by being shaken fiercely.
"Git up hyar!" commanded a snarling voice.
In the twinkling of an eye he was wide awake and sitting up.
"What is the matter?" was the question that came from his lips, as, by the dim light that came from the dying fire, he recognized Old Rocks bending over him.
"Ther dickens is ter pay!" grated the guide. "She's gone!"
"She? Who?"
"Ther leetle gal."
"Fay?"
"Yep."
"Gone?"
Frank was dazed. He looked around and saw Barney and the professor sitting up near at hand, but, sure enough, he could see nothing of the child.
"Yep," nodded Old Rocks. "She ain't in this yar tent."
"But—but how——"
"Dunno how she done it 'thout wakin' me, but she's gone."
"It must be that the Hermit crept in here and kidnaped her."
"Begorro!" cried Barney; "Oi belave thot is roight!"
"It seems reasonable," said the professor.
"Whut d'yer think!" snarled Old Rocks; "fancy I'd snooze right along an' let anything like thet happen? Wa-al, I guess not! Dog my cats ef I know how it kem about, but there gal jest vanished."
"She appeared like a fairy, and like a fairy she has disappeared," said Frank. "But she may be near the camp. We must lose no time in making a search for her."
"Right ye are!" cried Old Rocks, as he led the way from the tent.
Hastening outside, they called to the child, but received no answer.
"Wait a little," advised the guide, as he replenished the fire. "Don't go ter trompin' round yar too much. I wants ter look fer sign."
In this emergency they knew it was best to rely on his judgment, and so they remained quiet, watching his movements.
Having started up the fire, the guide began looking for "sign." His eyes were keen, and it did not take him long to find what he sought.
"Hyar's whar she left ther tent," he declared.
The others looked, but the ground told them nothing.
"That's foolishness," said Professor Scotch, sharply. "You don't mean to say you can see anything here?"
"Wa-al, thet's whut I mean. You're a tenderfut, an' so yer can't see anything. She wuzn't carried off."
"It is not likely she went away alone."
"Likely or not, thet's whut she done."
Bending low, Old Rocks followed the trail as far as the light of the fire reached.
"I reckon I kin torch her," he muttered.
"What do you mean by torching her?" asked Scotch.
Old Rocks made no answer, but returned to the little pile of fuel he had accumulated. This he quickly pulled over, selecting several sticks. He thrust the end of one into the flames, and, in a few moments, had a lighted torch.
"Git yer guns," he directed, "an' come erlong with me."
They did so, with the exception of the professor, who never touched a weapon if he could avoid it. However, he followed the others, and Old Rocks quickly took up the trail once more.
Frank was filled with anxiety for the safety of little Fay. He wondered greatly that the child should arise and creep from the tent without disturbing any one, and then flee into the darkness, but he did not doubt that Rocks had read the sign correctly.
It almost seemed that the guide was able to follow the trail by scent, for he moved swiftly, bending low, and holding the torch close to the ground.
In vain Frank looked for a footprint. The ground did not seem soft enough to yield such a mark, and still Old Rocks seldom hesitated a moment.
Along the val
ley they went, stringing out one after the other, their hearts throbbing with anxiety.
In this manner they proceeded at least half a mile, and then they came to a stretch of timber. The trail led straight into the woods.
Old Rocks growled and shook his head, and it was plain that he was quite as anxious as any of them.
For a moment they paused on the border of the strip of woods, while the guide got down on his hands and knees and closely inspected the trail.
"Was she alone when she reached this spot?" asked Frank.
Old Rocks nodded.
"It's ther dernedest thing I ever heerd of!" he grumbled. "How a little babby like thet should git up o' her own accord and go prowlin' off inter ther night gits me."
"It is ridiculous," said Professor Scotch. "Such a thing never happened before, and I can't believe it happened on this occasion. Why, she would have been frightened out of her senses. Somebody must have lured her away. That man you call the Hermit must have done it, and I will wager something she joined him as soon as she left the tent."
The guide gave a snort.
"Thet's enough to say I'm a derned fool! Ef ther babby left a trail, you will allow ther man must hev done ther same."
"Of course he did."
"Wa-al, looker yere. Hyar's a bit o' soft ground, an' you kin see whar she crossed over, but I'll be derned ef you kin see any track but ther ones she made."
He held the torch for them to examine the ground, and the tracks left by the child were plainly visible. It was true that she had passed into the timber alone.
"There's a mystery about this that I cannot understand," murmured Frank.
"It looks loike she wur a sure enough fairy," said Barney. "Av not thot, thin this is th' Ould Nick's oun worruk!"
At this moment all were startled by a cry that came from the timber—the cry of a child, broken and smothered.
Old Rocks straightened up, and the light of the torch fell on four pale, startled faces.
"Something has happened to her!" panted Frank. "Forward, man, forward! She may have been attacked by a wild beast!"
In another instant the guide was striding swiftly along the trail, making it necessary for the others to run in order to keep up with him.
They penetrated the timber for a considerable distance, and then, of a sudden, Old Rocks stopped short, stooping low to stare at the ground, grinding an exclamation of dismay through his teeth.
"What is it?" demanded Frank fearing the worst.
After a hasty survey of the ground, the guide replied:
"Injuns! Ther leetle gal has been ketched by ther p'izen varmints, sure as shootin'!"
* * *
CHAPTER XXIX.
FACE TO FACE.
"Th' saints defind her!" cried Barney.
"Indians?" panted Frank. "Are you sure?"
"Wa-al, I reckon! Hyar's ther marks. See them hoof prints thar. Notice they toe in. Thet is Injun sign."
"I—I think we had better return to the camp at once," fluttered Professor Scotch.
"Not much!" exclaimed Frank, fiercely. "If she has fallen into the hands of those red wretches, we must follow them and rescue her."
Old Rocks nodded.
"You talk all right, youngster; but I reckon yer sand would ooze out on a pinch. All ther same, we must foller ther skunks."
"Go on!" came from Barney. "Begobs! we'll show yez av we've got sand!"
"But I am not feeling well," protested the professor.
"Then ye'd better go back," snarled Old Rocks. "You'll be more bother then good, anyhow."
"I—I can't go back through the darkness. I should lose my way. You must accompany me to the camp."
"An' waste all thet time? Wa-al, I ruther guess not! Time is too valuable just now."
"This is a terrible scrape!" fluttered Scotch. "I expect we'll all be killed before we get out of it!"
The guide seemed to hesitate, casting a sidelong look at the professor, as if he longed to get rid of the man in some way, but did not know how.
"I kin do as much erlone as I kin with ther hull o' yer," he finally said. "I reckons ye'd best all go back."
"I guess not!" cried Frank. "I am with you through thick and thin! You will remember that I found the child, and she called herself my fairy. It is my duty to help rescue her."
"Wa-al, I 'lows ye'll stick ter thet," growled Old Rocks; "an' so I'll hev ter take yer erlong."
"An' Oi'm wid him, begobs!"
But the guide would not agree to that.
"Somebody's got ter go back ter camp an' look out fer things," he said. "I reckons you an' ther professor is ther ones."
Barney groaned.
"Profissor, can't yez go alone?" he asked. "It's nivver a chance have Oi had ter take a hand in a bit av a ruction loately, av ye will except th' chance Oi had th' doay."
But Professor Scotch had no fancy to return through the darkness to the camp, and he insisted that Barney should accompany him. The Irish boy was forced to succumb, and he parted from Frank with the utmost reluctance and regret.
"We have fought an' bled togither," he said, "an' it's harrud to be parruted loike this."
In a short time Barney and the professor were returning to the camp, while, with Frank Merriwell at his heels, Old Rocks again took up the trail.
Frank marveled at the swiftness with which Old Rocks swung over the ground.
Through the timber they made their way, and then through a narrow ravine, and four or five miles had been covered before the guide paused to speak.
"They're makin' straight fer ther lake," he said. "I don't like that."
"Why not?"
"Ef ther p'izen varmints has canoes—wa-al, we won't be liable ter foller 'em farther than ther lake."
"That is true. We will hope they have no canoes."
Onward they went once more, Old Rocks having lighted a fresh torch, which left but one remaining.
The night was on the wane. Already the sounds of the middle night were hushed. The owls had stopped their hooting, and now, on noiseless wing, were making their last hunting rounds before day should come.
Afar on the side of a mountain a wolf was howling like a dog baying to the moon. The stars which filled the sky seemed to prophesy of dawn.
Bending low, now and then swinging his torch to fan it into a stronger flame, Old Rocks almost raced along the trail, while the boy at his heels kept close.
They were like two tongueless hounds upon a hot scent.
And thus they came, at last, to the lake.
Not a word did Old Rocks say for several minutes, but he moved up and down the shore, reading the "sign," while his companion waited with the greatest anxiety.
At length, with a grated exclamation of rage and dismay, the man flung himself on the ground.
"It's jest as I feared," he growled. "Ther onery varmints hed canoes hid hyar, an' we kin trail 'em no farther."
"Then what can we do?" fluttered the discomfited boy.
"Northin' but wait fer daylight."
Now on the still air very faintly was heard a distant tone of music; a sweet whistle, at first low, rising and falling, and then gradually becoming more distinct. It came nearer and nearer till it seemed to fill the air all about, and then, looking upward, they saw dark forms flitting between them and the stars.
The wild ducks were flying.
The musical note passed on, receded, grew fainter and fainter, till, at last, it died out in the distance.
From the lake came a far-off trumpet call, and then another—the mellow note of the wild geese.
The world was awakening; the day was near.
The stars were growing paler now. In the eastern sky was a bit of gray, which slowly broadened, pushing upward and blotting out the stars.
Where all before was dark, the morning twilight began to show the black forms of things.
The outlines of tree trunks could be seen, and they seemed to stand like ghosts, reaching out shadowy arms, as if feeling their way through
the dimness.
The birds which through the long night had slept in the low bushes were beginning to chirp and flutter.
All at once, Old Rocks started and clutched Frank's arm.
"Listen!" he whispered.
The sound of footsteps told them some one was approaching.
"Back!" whispered the guide, leading the way. "We must see who ther critter is, an' he musn't see us."
Hastily they drew into the deep shadows, holding their rifles ready for use in case they should need them.
Nearer and nearer came the footsteps, and then the dark figure of a man appeared, advancing through the dusky darkness.
The man was alone, and he halted on the shore of the lake, within a short distance of the crouching man and boy. They saw him bow his head on his breast and stand there in silence.
Several minutes passed. At last, the unknown lifted his head, stretched out his arms, and uttered a long, mournful cry that seemed to come from a breaking heart.
Old Rocks rose and glided swiftly and silently toward the stranger, who did not hear him approach. The guide's hand dropped on the man's shoulder, and he said:
"Hello, Hermit. Whatever be yer doin' hyar?"
The strange man turned, and Frank saw that it was indeed the Hermit of the Yellowstone.
"Doing?" he said, hoarsely. "I am seeking rest—seeking rest! I'll never find it till I rest in the grave!"
"You must hev a derned bad liver, or somethin' o' ther sort," sneered Old Rocks. "I don't understand a critter like you none whatever."
"I do not expect you to understand me. You do not know my story. If I were to tell you——"
"We ain't got time ter listen; but I'll tell you a leetle story. You know ther babby-gal whut yer saw at our camp?"
The hermit bowed, and then, as if a suspicion of the truth had flashed over him, he fiercely grasped the guide with both hands, hoarsely demanding:
"Has anything happened to her? Tell me—tell me quick!"
With a few well-chosen words, Old Rocks told exactly what had happened. The hermit seemed overcome with horror and dismay.
Frank Merriwell's Bravery Page 15
