The Rover Boys Megapack

by Edward Stratemeyer

  Again all three listened intently. There was a long spell of silence, and then from a distance came an answering whistle, that sounded like an echo of their own.

  “It’s Tom!” screamed Sam and clapped his hands.

  “Yes, it must be. Nobody else could imitate that whistle so perfectly,” returned his brother.

  “Oh, let us go on! We must get to him,” went on Sam, impatiently. “Maybe that whistle will bring him to his right senses, Dick!”

  “I’m afraid that is too much to expect, Sam. But I am glad he remembered the whistle, anyway. It shows that he hasn’t forgotten everything.”

  “Let us yell that we are coming, and for them to wait,” suggested the old miner.

  “That’s it,” answered Dick. “Now then, I’ll lead off.”

  And loud and clear rang the cry:

  “We are coming! We are coming! Wait for us! Wait! Wait!”

  To this some answer came back, but what it was they could not make out. Then, in the silence that followed, they picked up their traps once more and went forward on the wearisome trail.

  With each yard of advance the walking became more difficult. In some spots the rocks were covered with snow and they had to proceed with caution, for fear of a nasty tumble. They were climbing upward steadily and they noted with satisfaction that the cliffs seemed to become correspondingly lower.

  “We’ll be up there in quarter of an hour more,” said Jack Wumble. “But don’t ye try to go too fast. This trail is gittin’ wuss an’ wuss.”

  At last they came to some rocks where further progress seemed impossible. There had been something of a landslide, and big rocks covered the footpath for a distance of a hundred feet or more.

  They gazed around the spot in perplexity.

  “Well, one thing is certain,” said Sam. “Tom and that man must have come this way, If they could get over these rocks we ought to be able to do the same thing.”

  “I think I see a way,” said Dick. “Yes, here are some footprints in the snow and on this fallen tree. They climbed up by holding on to those branches. We can do the same thing.”

  “Don’t ye try it!” yelled Jack Wumble. “Thet tree is loose! It might carry ye to the bottom of the mountain!”

  “Hark!” called out Sam. “I hear something! What is that?”

  All listened. From a distance came a curious swishing and cracking sound, followed by a wild sort of yell. Then came a crash—and then—utter silence.

  CHAPTER XXII

  IKE FURNER’S CAMP

  “Dick, what was that?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know, Sam. Sounded like something falling.”

  “It was a tree sliding down the mountain,” put in Jack Wumble. “A tree jest like the one you was goin’ to take hold on.”

  “And somebody on it!” gasped Sam. “Oh, do you suppose it was Tom?”

  At this question the old miner shrugged his shoulders.

  “Ain’t no tellin’, Sam. Let us hope not, fer if he went down the mountain side—”

  “He’d be killed!” finished Dick, and shuddered.

  They listened and called out. But no answer came back, and they heard nothing more but the humming of the wind through the trees, for it had begun to blow stronger than before.

  “Let’s go a little further than this trail,” suggested Jack Wumble. “It looks to be better walking yonder.”

  “But we don’t want to lose our way,” returned Sam, rather impatiently. The strange happenings of the day were getting on his nerves.

  “We can come back here, if we need to,” was the old miner’s reply.

  The Rovers followed him through some brushwood and then up a rough incline. Here the bushes growing between the rocks aided them, although they had to put on gloves, to keep from getting their hands badly scratched, for some of the growth was thorny.

  “Well, here we are at last!” cried Sam, when the upper level of the trail was gained. He was almost out of breath, for the climb had been a long and hard one.

  They were now in the midst of a field, with the snow coming down thickly all around them. Wumble led the way, looking for the spot above the fallen tree. To one side was the mountain top, to the other the valley, but all cut off from their view by the falling flakes of snow. It was so dark that they could scarcely distinguish the trail, even though Wumble was sure they were on it.

  “Why not light a torch?” suggested Dick.

  “That will help us, and may make the others see us—if they are near by.”

  This was considered a good suggestion, and the old miner picked out an extra dry bush that was long and slender. The top ignited readily, and he quickly swung it into a blaze. Then they went on once more, holding the torch at arm’s length.

  It was well that the light had been made, as they speedily found out. Scarcely had they gone a hundred yards further when they reached a split in the mountain side.

  “Stop!” yelled the old miner, and came to a halt at the very brink of a crevice ten or twelve feet wide and of unknown depth.

  “There’s a tree bridge!” said Dick, as the torch was swung around to light up the vicinity.

  He pointed to where a slender tree had been cut down and allowed to fall across the chasm. It made a fairly good bridge, although they had to cross with care and only one at a time. Their traps they threw over the opening.

  With the snow now blowing directly in their faces, they marched forward once more, Wumble throwing the light as far ahead as possible. Soon they reached another climb, up a series of rocks that looked almost like a pair of stairs.

  “Look!” cried the old miner, a few minutes later, and he stopped to pick something up out of the snow. It was a wooden pipe.

  “It must be that Ike Furner’s,” said Dick. “Tom doesn’t smoke.”

  “Why, look, the pipe has tobacco in it, and it’s still lit!” exclaimed Sam. “It couldn’t have been dropped very long ago!”

  “And that proves that the owner must be close by!” put in his brother. “Let’s call!” And he set up a ringing shout, in which Sam and Jack Wumble joined.

  For fully a minute no answer came back. Then, from some height above them, issued an answering cry.

  “Wave the torch, Jack!” exclaimed Dick, and the old miner did as requested.

  All strained their eyes.

  “I see a light!” exclaimed Sam. “See, over yonder!”

  “I see it,” came from the others.

  Forward they went, in the direction of the light, which flickered uncertainly through the falling snow. They had to climb around many rocks and bushes, and occasionally they lost sight of the beacon ahead. But at last, mounting another rise, they came in full view of a campfire, located at the entrance to a cave-like opening in the side of the mountain.

  A man was standing close to the campfire, a tall, thin individual, with a shock of hair and a heavy beard. He was dressed in a typical miner’s costume and in his hands was a pistol.

  “Who goes there?” he cried, in a high-pitched, nervous voice. “Don’t come any closer until I know who you are,” and he raised his pistol and pointed it at those who approached.

  “Don’t shoot, stranger,” called out Jack Wumble, as he and the Rovers came to a halt. “Are you Ike Furner?” he went on.

  “I am. Who are you?”

  “I’m a miner from Black Run. My handle is Jack Wumble. These are two friends o’ mine, Dick an’ Sam Rover. We ain’t goin’ to harm you. We are lookin’ fer a young feller thet’s lost, that’s all.”

  “We are looking for my brother,” added Dick. “His name is Tom Rover. I think he was traveling with you.” They had now come close enough to see that Ike Furner was alone.

  “Don’t know no Tom Rover,” was the slow response. “There’s a young feller with me, but his name is Brill Thomas.”
r />   “And where is he now?” asked Sam, impatiently.

  “Was you below here a while ago, shoutin’?” asked Ike Furner, without answering the last question.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, he went off to meet you.”

  “To meet us!” exclaimed Dick. “Which way did he go?”

  “Same way you came.”

  “But we didn’t meet him,” cried Sam and Dick, in a breath.

  “I dunno nuthin’ about that, stranger. When my partner heard you a-callin’ an’ heard that queer whistle you gave he got all excited, an’ said he must see who it was. I told him he’d better wait till you came along, but he wouldn’t do it—said he couldn’t—that he had remembered somethin’ an’ he was afraid he was goin’ to forgit it ag’in.”

  “Poor Tom! That whistle must have made him remember who he was!” said Sam. He turned to his brother. “Where can he be now? Oh, Dick, do you remember that strange noise—”

  “Yes! yes! If he had a tumble—” Dick could not finish.

  “We’d better search into this,” came promptly from Jack Wumble. He held out the pipe he had picked up. “Is this yours?” he asked, of the other man.

  “It sure is!” cried Ike Furner, his eyes lighting up with pleasure. “I thought sure she was gone fer good. I suppose ye found her on the trail.”

  “I did.”

  “Thanks,” and the other miner put the precious pipe in his pocket. Then he gazed curiously at the crowd before him. “I don’t understand this nohow,” he muttered. “That feller who was with me was all right till you called an’ whistled, then he acted plumb locoed.”

  “He is our brother,” explained Dick, “and he is a bit out of his mind. But we can’t waste time explaining just now. We must hunt him up before this storm gets any worse.”

  “That’s the talk,” said Sam.

  “I don’t see why he didn’t meet you.”

  “We are afraid he had a tumble,” answered Dick, and told about the strange swishing and crashing they had heard.

  “By gum! Maybe he went down into thet split in the rocks!” cried Ike Furner. “I yelled to him to be careful o’ thet openin’. But he was in sech a hurry—” The miner did not finish.

  “I’ll get a fresh torch and we’ll go back,” said Jack Wumble. His face wore a sober look. “A tumble down thet openin’ would be putty bad,” he added.

  “Want me to go along?” asked Ike Furner.

  “You can go if you want to,” answered Dick. “But fix your traps so that no wild animals can get at the food.”

  “Oh, the grub is safe enough. I’ll keep a good fire burnin’,” answered the prospector. They could readily see that he was a peculiar man, but with a kindly heart. Family troubles had caused him to try his fortunes in this out of the way portion of the globe.

  It did not take long for them to build up the campfire and get an extra torch. This done, all set off in the direction of the split in the rocks, Jack Wumble leading the way and the others coming in a bunch behind him.

  The Rover boys knew not what to say or what to think. Had Tom tumbled into that awful opening, and if so, was he alive or dead?

  “If he went down there I don’t see how he could escape,” whispered Sam to his brother. “Why, when I crossed on that tree I couldn’t see the bottom!”

  “Let us hope he didn’t take that tumble,” was the low reply.

  CHAPTER XXIII

  A SLIDE DOWN THE MOUNTAIN SIDE

  “My gracious, Dick! It sure is snowing some now!”

  “Yes, and it is getting colder every minute.”

  “If we don’t get out of the mountains putty quick we’ll be snowed in,” came from Jack Wumble.

  “Did you calkerlate to git back to Dawson afore winter sot in?” inquired Ike Furner, curiously.

  “Why of course!” cried Sam.

  “I don’t see how you are goin’ to make it.”

  “Oh, we must get back,” said Dick. “If only we could find Tom,” he added, with a sigh.

  It was fully an hour after they had left the campfire at the entrance to the cave of the mountain. They had walked to the chasm where they thought Tom might have had a tumble and crossed and recrossed it several times. But they had found no traces of the missing Rover boy.

  “If only we knew whether he went down in that opening!” said Sam, for at least the tenth time. “Dick, do you suppose we can climb down into it?”

  “Not without a rope, Sam. The sides are too steep and slippery.”

  Time and again they called down. But no answer came back. If Tom was down there he was either unconscious or dead.

  And now it had begun to snow harder than ever. The air was so full of the white flakes that they could not see ten feet in any direction. It was a typical Alaskan snowstorm. There was a sweep to the wind that found the very marrow of their bones.

  What to do next the Rovers did not know, nor could the two miners suggest anything. Finally, however, Ike Furner mentioned something that set the youths to thinking.

  “See here!” he cried. “The old tree is gone!”

  “What tree?” asked all three of the others.

  “Why, the big hemlock as was hangin’ over the cliff. She was a whopper, I kin tell you—biggest tree in these parts.”

  “Where was that tree?” asked Dick.

  “Right here, whar you see the holes. The snow has covered the spot putty well, but I know the tree was here when we come up.”

  “It must have been that tree we heard sliding down the mountain side,” exclaimed Dick. “Maybe Tom didn’t go down into the chasm at all, but slid down the mountain on the tree!”

  “That’s so!” put in Sam, eagerly. “And he may not be hurt!”

  “Well, a slide like thet wouldn’t be anything to sneeze at,” remarked Jack Wumble. “Especially if the tree took to rollin’ over an’ over!”

  “I’m goin’ to investigate,” said Dick, and commenced to crawl out on the edge of the cliff.

  “You be careful!” roared Wumble. “It’s slippery an’ dangerous out there!”

  “Let us join hands,” suggested Sam, and this was done, all forming a chain, to keep Dick from going over the edge of the cliff. He took the torch in one hand, that he might light the way in the darkness and the flying snow.

  At last Dick found himself on the very edge of the cliff at the point where the giant tree had stood. To his surprise the cliff was not perpendicular there, but formed a slope leading to another ridge some fifty feet below. What was beneath this was hidden from view by the falling snow.

  “I think I can crawl down there,” he said to the others. “Anyway, I am going to try it.”

  “Wait! I’ve got a lariat in my pack,” said Ike Furner. “I’ll git that. It will be better’n nuthin’.” And off he sped for the article mentioned.

  When he came back Dick tied one end of the lariat around his waist, and while the others held fast he crawled down the slope. He had to keep on his hands and knees, and once he slipped a distance of several yards, the others stopping him with a jerk.

  “Be careful—the lariat might snap!” sang out Sam.

  “It’s better walking down here,” answered Dick. “I think—”

  He did not finish, for just then his body swung down into a hollow, filled with snow and with some dripping water that had commenced to freeze. There was a snap, and the end of the lariat came back in the faces of those above.

  “There he goes!” yelled Jack Wumble, and pointed down to where the torch could be seen whirling around and around. Soon it was hidden from view by the snow.

  “Dick! Dick!” yelled Sam. “Are you safe?”

  A yell came back, but what was said those above could not make out. Sam’s face went white, and he looked inquiringly at Jack Wumble.

  “Where do you sup
pose he went to?” asked Ike Furner.

  Wumble shook his head.

  “Don’t know, unless he slid clar down to the valley,” he returned. “This is certainly the wust yet.”

  “I’m going down after him,” said Sam, bravely.

  “Be careful, lad, it may cost ye your life.”

  “I don’t care—I’m going to find Dick—and Tom, too.”

  The youngest Rover was just worked up enough to be reckless. And when Sam got that way nothing could hold him back.

  “I’m going back, to get something to eat for all hands—in case we need it,” he said. “Then I’ll crawl down somehow and learn the truth. If Tom and Dick are all right, I’ll fire one shot from my pistol. Then you’ll know we are coming up as soon as possible. If I fire two shots you’ll know we are all right, but we can’t come up right away. If I fire three shots you’ll know I need help. In that case come down, packs and all, and we’ll find some kind of a camping spot below.”

  So it was settled, and having gone back to where the traps had been left, the youngest Rover made up a small bundle for himself, and also procured another torch. The others accompanied him to where Dick had disappeared.

  “I hate to see ye leavin’ me,” said Jack Wumble, with feeling. “Maybe it would be better to wait till mornin’, when it was lighter.”

  “No, Jack, I can’t wait—and have Dick down there, and Tom, too. For all we know, both of them may be dying!”

  That was all Sam said, and to this the old miner could not reply. Ike Furner looked on, but did not open his mouth. He was waiting to hear the full particulars concerning the young man he had known as Brill Thomas.

  Down and down went Sam, the snow soon hiding the two miners from his view. He had to proceed with care, fearing a tumble such as his big brother had taken. Where there was water, ice was forming on the rocks, making the descent more dangerous than ever.

  “I don’t know how a fellow is to get back that way,” he said to himself. “Guess we’ll have to walk around by the trail.”

  It was now intensely cold and the wind was blowing almost a gale. He was glad when he reached something of a hollow, where he could crouch down and regain his breath.