Part 1 (1/2)

The Silent Alarm.

by Roy J. Snell.

CHAPTER I

THE PRISONER IN A LONE CABIN

In a cabin far up the side of Pine Mountain, within ten paces of the murmuring waters of Ages Creek, there stood an old, two roomed log cabin.

In one room of that cabin sat a girl. She was a large, strong girl, with the glow of ruddy health on her cheeks.

Her dress, though simple, displayed a taste too often missing in the c.u.mberland Mountains of Kentucky, and one might have guessed that she was from outside the mountains.

If one were to observe her, sitting there in a rustic splint bottomed chair; if he were to study her by the flickering firelight, he might have said: ”She is a guest.”

In this he would have been wrong. Florence Huyler was virtually a prisoner in that cabin. As she sat there dreamily gazing at the flickering fire, a man did sentry duty outside the door. He seemed asleep as he sat slouched over in a chair tilted against the cabin, but he was not. Nor would the occupant of that chair sleep this night.

Yet, had you said to Florence, ”Why do they hold you prisoner here?” she would have replied:

”I'm sure I don't know.”

That would have been true, too.

”What can they want?” she asked herself for the thousandth time as she sat there watching the coals of her wood fire blink out one by one. ”Are they moons.h.i.+ners? Do they think I am a secret agent of the revenue men?

Do they want this,” she patted a pocket inside her blouse, ”or have they been hired by the big coal company to hold me until the secret of the railroad is out?”

When she patted her blouse there had come a crinkling sound. Ten new fifty dollar bank notes were pinned to the inside of the garment.

”If that's what they want,” she said to herself, ”why don't they demand it and let me go?”

She shuddered as she rose. The room was cold. She dreaded facing a night in that cabin.

Having entered the second room, she closed the door softly behind her, then sat down upon the edge of the bed.

After removing her shoes, she glanced up at the smoke blackened ceiling.

”Hole up there,” she mused. ”I wonder if.... No, I guess not. Never can tell, though.”

At once her lithe body was in motion. With the agility of a cat, she sprang upon a chair, mounted its back, caught the edge of the opening above and drew herself up into the attic, then dropped noiselessly down upon a beam.

”Whew! Dusty,” she panted.

Five minutes later she found herself staring out into the moonlight. At the upper end of the cabin loft she had found a small door that opened to a view of the mountain side. Having found this she opened it noiselessly.

It would be an easy matter to hang by her hands, drop to the ground and then attempt her escape through the brush. This she was about to do when something arrested her-a very small thing. On a narrow level s.p.a.ce where the gra.s.s had been eaten short by cows or wild creatures, three young rabbits were sporting in the moonlight.

”Shame to spoil their fun,” she whispered to herself. ”Time enough.” She seated herself close to the opening.

A moment later she was thankful for the impulse that caused her to wait.

In an instant, without a sound, the rabbits disappeared into the brush.