Part 22 (1/2)
Not a word was spoken as they trudged cautiously forward. Every care was taken not to cause the least sound. Hounds, they knew all too well, have sharp ears. So, darting from bush to bush and from tree to tree, they came at last to a spot directly over a cliff where, by parting branches, they might get a fair view of the deserted cabin and the clearing.
”Someone there,” whispered Marion. ”See! There's a wisp of smoke curling from the chimney.”
For a time they sat silently intent.
Suddenly Marion's heart stopped beating! Had she caught the low cry of a child? Yes, there it was again.
”Hallie,” she whispered, springing to her feet. ”I must go to her.”
”No! No!” Patience whispered tensely. ”They are bad men. They would kill you.”
”But Hallie.” The girl's heart was wrung by the thought of the innocent child's suffering.
”Hallie's all right for now. You have heard her cry in that way often before. It's just a fretful, sleepy cry. She will soon fall asleep.”
It was true. Even as they waited and listened the crying ceased and over the hills and the forest there fell the hush of night.
Into this hush Patience burst with an exceedingly strange whispered remark:
”If only we had that c.o.o.n. Marion, have you any money?”
”Five dollars.”
”Oh! Good! They'd sell it for that, I am sure. But we won't ask them; just pin the money to the c.o.o.n's box.”
”But it's all we have. We will need food. The kidnappers may go to the railroad. We will need money. Anyway, why the c.o.o.n?”
Patience did not answer. s.n.a.t.c.hing the money, she was away in the night, leaving Marion alone in the dark and with the strange men scarcely more than a stone's throw beneath her.
Who can tell what this city girl's thoughts were as she sat there alone with the silence of night hovering over her? Whatever the thoughts might have been, they were at last broken in upon by the low rattle of a chain.
Beside her stood Patience and in her arms, cuddled up like a kitten, was the pet c.o.o.n.
”Now what in the world did you do that for?” demanded Marion as, having picked up Patience's long squirrel rifle, she came trudging after her.
”Wait and see!” she panted.
Very weary and very skeptical, Marion waited. Having once more reached the crest of the cliff, Patience felt her way about until she had located a tall young hickory tree with branches some six feet from the ground.
Placing the c.o.o.n on the ground and handing the chain to Marion, she whispered: ”Give me a lift to the first limb. Then hand me the c.o.o.n.”
Having complied with her request, Marion leaned wearily upon the rifle while she listened to the sound of her companion scaling the tree, branch by branch.
Presently she heard Patience coming down. When at last Patience caught the lowest branch and swung herself down Marion saw that her hands were empty.
”C'mon!” Patience whispered hoa.r.s.ely as she dragged her companion through the brush.
In silence they skirted the mountain side until they were almost directly above the cabin.
”Hist! Listen!” Patience came to a sudden standstill.