Part 25 (1/2)

”Probably two. Sheer off now, and don't forget, twelve o'clock.”

The footsteps move away through the wet heather, and the tramp, waiting motionless till the last sound has faded away, draws a long breath and curls himself back into his roost.

But not to sleep--to meditate a campaign.

”Julius,” says he to the dog, who appears to be fully alive to the brewing storm, ”you and I will have to stop this business. There'll be three to two, unless the boy fights too. We must be here at eleven, and tackle one of them before the other two come. What do you say to that?”

Julius looks only sorry the business is not to begin at once.

Then the tramp and he go carefully into the plan of their little campaign, and, as soon as day dawns, go out for a walk, Julius taking care before quitting the shed to acquaint himself with the scent of the two gentlemen who had lately sheltered outside it.

The tramp spends a quiet day on the mountain, reading Homer, and admiring the view. Towards nightfall he descends to Overstone and spends a few of his remaining pence in a frugal meal. Then, as the moon dips behind the shoulder of Wild Pike, he betakes himself, with the faithful Julius close at his heels, to the shed on the mountain-side.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

KIDNAPPING.

Percy Rimbolt, despite his unusual literary labours of the past evening, rose promptly when Walker knocked at his door at six o'clock, and arrayed himself once more in his flannels.

The storm of the night, which had disturbed Jeffreys and his dog five miles away, had not spread as far as Wildtree, and the early summer sun was already hot as he sallied forth with his waterproof over one arm, and his dozen ash sticks under the other in the direction of the river.

Kennedy, at the lodge, was considerably astonished to be awakened by a shower of gravel against his window, and to perceive, on looking out, the young master in full fis.h.i.+ng order standing below, ”Kennedy, Appleby's going to leave some things here for me about twelve o'clock.

Mind you're in, and wait till I come for them. And if Raby comes, tell her I'll be up about then; tell her not to go away.”

”Do you want me down at the river, sir?” asked the old keeper.

”No, keep away; and don't let any one else come below Rodnet Bridge.”

With which injunction the youthful man of science went on his way, leaving Kennedy to shake his head and wonder what little game the young master was up to now.

Percy plodded on a couple of miles down the stream, considerably beyond the park boundaries, till he reached Rodnet Bridge, under which the mountain torrent slipped in a swift, deep stream. Just below the bridge, among the trees which crowded down to the water's edge, was a little hut, used by the Wildtree keepers for depositing their baskets and nets, but now appropriated by the young heir of Wildtree for far more important purposes.

It was here, in fact, that during the last two days he had conceived, and begun to put into practice, the never-before-heard-of invention of a machine for enabling a swimmer to swim up-stream at the rate of eight to ten miles an hour!

Percy's recent career had been made up of a large number of magnificent projects, admirable in every respect but one--they never quite came off.

Just as they neared perfection they ”gave out,” and something new took their place. It would be treason, however, to hint that the ”anti- current swimmer” was ever likely to give out. There certainly seemed no signs of it in the manner in which the inventor set about his task that morning. He had been provident enough to bring some sandwiches in his pockets (provided at the last moment by the much-enduring Walker), and on the strength of these he laboured half the morning. It would puzzle me to explain on what scientific principle the wonderful apparatus was laid down, what mixture between the wing of a bird, the tail of a fish, and the screw of a steamer it embodied. I never was good at mechanics, and certainly Percy Rimbolt's mechanics were such as it is given but to few to follow. Suffice it to say that by eleven o'clock the structure had reached a critical stage, and stood still for want of the cork which Appleby had been charged to procure.

The day was hot, and an hour at least must elapse before the messenger could return from Overstone. Percy, therefore, improved the s.h.i.+ning hour by a bathe in the clear stream, with whose depths he was evidently familiar. He made no attempt, pending the completion of the machine, to oppose the swift current, but diving into it from the bridge, allowed himself luxuriously to be carried down into the shallows a hundred yards below, and without even the trouble of swimming. This refres.h.i.+ng performance ended, he returned to the hut and dressed. He was in the act of locking the door, preparatory to his journey up to Kennedy's lodge, when a sack was suddenly thrown over his head from behind, and next moment he found himself pinned to the ground in the clutches of two men. Before he was well aware of what had happened, his feet were tied together, and his arms firmly lashed to his sides. The sack was lifted from his mouth, but not long enough to enable him to shout, for a gag was roughly forced between his teeth; and then, while one of his captors held his head, the other bandaged his eyes so completely that, had he not known it, he could not have told whether it was mid-day or midnight.

Thus, in almost less time than it takes to narrate it, in broad daylight, and on the borders of his own father's estate, the unfortunate Percy was made captive, without so much as being able to give an alarm or to see the faces of his a.s.sailants.

He was deposited comfortably on the floor of his own hut, by the side, oh, cruel fate! of his own machine, and there left to work out any number of problems which might occur to him during the next six hours; while his custodians, having carefully padlocked the door, retired to a respectful distance among the trees, where they could smoke their pipes in peace, and at the same time keep an eye on the approaches to their young ward's dungeon.

It did not take Percy many minutes to convince himself that any attempt to struggle or extricate himself from his bonds would be labour thrown away. His captors were evidently well up to their business, and there was no wriggling out of their neatly-tied bonds. Nor did the onslaught which the boy made with his teeth on the gag result in anything but disaster. It loosened at least two of his teeth, and gave him during the remainder of the day considerable pain in some of the others. As to his eyes, he rubbed his forehead and the side of his head on the floor, in the hopes of s.h.i.+fting the bandage, but all in vain. He got it over his ears as well as his eyes for his pains, and could scarcely hear a sound.

As the afternoon went on, the sun slanted its rays cruelly through the little skylight on to the spot where he lay, and the flies, attracted by the rare chance, swarmed in under the door and through the cracks to make merry with their defenceless victim. Had the sun been seven times as hot, or the flies venomous and deadly, he would have preferred it, for it would have shortened his misery considerably. When at last the sun got across the window, and left him at peace, he was scarcely in a position to appreciate his mercies.

Not long after the distant Overstone chimes had sounded four, his heart (about the only unfettered portion of him) leapt to his mouth as he heard his name called in Raby's voice outside. Nor was his the only heart whom that cheery sound caused to palpitate. The two watchers in the wood above heard it, and prepared to decamp at a moment's notice, should the girl display any undue curiosity as to the contents of the hut.

But she did not. She was used to seeing it padlocked, and to listen in vain for an answer to her call. Percy was evidently abroad, probably waiting for her up at Kennedy's lodge. So she hurried back. As soon as she had disappeared beyond the bridge, the two men put their pipes into their pockets.