THE CABIN ON THE ISLAND
“Dave, come on out for a row. You haven’t been on the river this year.”
It was Gus Plum who spoke. He was out in one of the craft belonging to Oak Hall, and hailed our hero as the latter was strolling along the river-bank.
“All right, Gus!” Dave cried, cheerily. “I don’t know but that a try at the oars will do me good, after the hard studying I’ve been doing.”
“You are bound to get a high-water mark this term, aren’t you?” went on Gus Plum, as he brought the rowboat up to the dock, so that Dave might get in.
“I’d like to graduate with honor, yes.”
“What are you going to do after you leave here, Dave?” went on the big youth, as the two rowed up the river.
“I don’t know yet. Have you made up your mind?”
“Oh, I think I’ll go into business, but I am not sure.” 122
“You won’t try for college?”
“No. You see, I don’t make much of a fist at learning, so what’s the use? But I love business—buying and selling things.”
The two boys continued at the oars until the vicinity of Oak Hall was left far behind.
“If we only had a power-boat we might run up to Squirrel Island,” remarked Gus.
“Perhaps Nat Poole will lend you his motor-boat,” suggested our hero, with a little grin.
“Humph! I’d not ask him,” returned the big youth, promptly. “I am done with Nat Poole. I want to stick to my new friends.” And the former bully of the school fairly beamed on Dave, who had done so much to make him reform.
“Have you seen the motor-boat this season, Gus?”
“Yes, Nat got it out two days ago. I think he is on the river now.”
The boys rowed on, until they came to a bend where there was something of a cove. As they rounded the point they heard the steady put-put! of a gasoline engine not far off.
“There is Nat’s craft now!” cried our hero, and pointed ahead.
“He’s all alone,” was Plum’s comment. “He can’t have many friends these days, or he’d have some of them along.” 123
“I’d hate to be without friends, Gus, shouldn’t you?”
“Yes, indeed! But it’s Nat’s own fault. If he’d only drop his important airs and be more sociable, he’d get along all right.”
On and on rowed the two students. It was a clear, balmy day, and they hated to return to the school until it was absolutely necessary.
“Let us row around Smith Island,” suggested our hero, mentioning a small place in the middle of the stream, so named after a farmer who owned it. It was a rocky and somewhat barren spot, and seldom visited by anybody but fishermen.
“All right, but we want to beware of the rocks,” cautioned the big youth.
The rowboat was headed up the stream, and soon they came in sight of the island. On one side were a number of bushes, overhanging the river.
“Hello! look there!” cried Dave, a few minutes later, and pointed to the bushes.
“What do you see?”
“A motor-boat. I think it is Nat Poole’s.”
“Is that so? What brought him here?” questioned Gus, with interest.
“I am sure I don’t know. But it’s his boat, I am sure of that,” went on Dave, after another look at the craft. 124
“See anything of Nat?”
“No, the boat is empty.”
“Let us row in a little closer and see what he is doing,” suggested Gus.
“He’ll say we were spying on him.”
“Humph! Haven’t we as much right as he has to visit the island?”
“Of course.”
“Then what is the use of keeping away? He may be waiting to play some trick, or something like that.”
“Oh, I think not, Gus. Probably he just visited the island out of curiosity. But I’ll go in if you say so.”
Slowly, so as to avoid the many rocks in that vicinity, the two students brought the rowboat close up to the motor-craft. They looked into the bushes and along the rocks beyond, but saw nothing of Nat.
“Shall we call to him?” asked Gus.
“What for? I don’t want to see him.”
“Neither do I. His boat is tied good and fast. He must expect to stay on the island quite a while.”
The two boys rowed on, past the motor-boat. Then, as they turned a point of rocks, Dave gave a start.
“Well, of all things!”
“Look yonder—in between those bushes!”
“Why, it’s a rowboat.”
“Exactly, Gus, and do you see how it is painted, drab with blue stripes?”
“Of course—a pretty ugly boat, I think.”
“Gus, that is the very rowboat used by that wild man—the one he was in when he got away from us that day!”
“Do you really mean it?” gasped the big boy, staring hard at the craft.
“I certainly do—I’d know that boat in a hundred. I never saw another just like it.”
“If that’s the case, maybe the wild man is on the island!”
“Just what I was thinking,” answered Dave. “And I was thinking, too, that––” He stopped short.
“What?”
“Don’t you remember how Nat was so anxious to know all about the wild man? And how upset he seemed to be when he heard that the fellow called himself the King of Sumatra?”
“Yes, I remember that. Do you think he came here to find the man?” demanded Gus, quickly.
“It looks so to me.”
“My gracious, Dave, I think you are right! Say, there is something mysterious about all this!” cried Gus. 126
“Exactly.”
“Let us go ashore by all means and see what Nat is up to,” urged the big youth.
Dave was more than willing, now that he had discovered the rowboat used by the wild man. Perhaps this island was the home of that mysterious individual. If so, what was the money-lender’s son doing there? Had he business with the strange creature?
“Maybe we’d better not make any noise,” suggested Gus, as the boat was turned in to a convenient landing-place. To this Dave did not reply, but they landed as silently as possible. Then the rowboat was hauled up out of sight between the bushes.
From the craft used by the wild man a rude path ran up from the shore to the rocks beyond. A short distance from the shore the boys saw the marks of a wet foot, coming from the direction where lay the motor-boat.
“That was made by Nat—he got his left foot wet,” said Gus.
“I think so myself,” answered our hero.
They followed the marks left by the wet foot over the rocks. They headed for the upper end of the island, where there was a small grove of straggly cedar trees. Here the marks faded away completely.
“Well, we know he came this way, anyhow,” 127 remarked Gus. “He can’t be very far off, for the island isn’t very big.”
“I see a rude log cabin!” exclaimed Dave, and pointed through the cedars. “Maybe that is where the wild man lives.”
“If it is, we want to go slow, Dave. He may attack us.”
“But what of Nat, if he is there?”
“He may know the man and have some influence over him.”
“I hardly think anybody could have any influence over that man. He is as crazy as can be, and not to be trusted.”
The two youths approached the old log cabin slowly, keeping as much as possible in the shelter of the trees. Nobody was in sight, nor did any sound reach their ears.
Presently the students found themselves within fifty feet of the cabin, the door of which stood half open. Each looked at the other.
“I’m going ahead,” said Dave, resolutely. He and his companion had provided themselves with sticks, and Gus had also picked up two stones.
“Oh! oh! oh!” came of a sudden, to their startled ears. “Oh dear me!”
“It’s Nat!” ejaculated Dave. “Something has happened to him!”
“Maybe the wild man attacked him,” added Gus. 128
“We’ll soon see,” cried Dave, and started forward on a run.
Soon our hero was at the door of the cabin, which he pushed wide open. Inside all was dark, for it was growing late, and the rude structure boasted of but one small window, stuffed with cedar boughs to keep out the wind.
“Nat, where are you?” cried Dave, as his eyes sought to pierce the semi-darkness.
“Who—who is that calling me?” came, in surprise, from the center of the cabin.
“It is I—Dave Porter! Where are you, and what happened? Where is the wild man?”
“Oh, I’m caught fast—in a trap!” groaned the money-lender’s son. “Oh, help me out! My ankle is almost broken!”
“But the wild man—?” queried Gus, who was close behind our hero.
“I—I don’t know where he is,” gasped Nat. “Oh, say, won’t you please help me? My ankle is fast in a trap! Oh, how it hurts!”
“Wasn’t the wild man here?” asked Dave, as he got out his match-box to strike a light.
“No—at least, I haven’t seen him.”
Dave soon had a match lit, and with it set fire to a cedar bough placed in the rude fireplace of the cabin. By the glare of this light he and Gus looked around them and at their fellow-student. 129
The cabin was unfurnished excepting for a rude bench and a board placed on some piles of stones for a table. In the fireplace were a kettle and a frying-pan, and on the table the remains of a scanty meal of crackers, eggs, and apples. A tin pail, half filled with water, was also handy.
When Dave and Gus turned their attention to Nat Poole they had to stare in wonder. Nat sat on the floor, nursing a bruised ankle that was caught fast between the jaws of an old-fashioned steel animal-trap. The trap was chained to the floor, and the release chain ran to a corner of the fireplace, several feet beyond the sufferer’s reach.
“However did this happen?” asked Gus, although he and our hero could easily guess the answer to the question.
“Help me get loose first,” groaned poor Nat. “This thing is sawing down to the bone.”
Dave saw the release chain, which was held firm by a hook. Stepping over, he unhooked it, and then it was an easy matter to pry the jaws of the steel-trap apart. As soon as this was done, Nat rose slowly to his feet, making a wry face as he did so.
“I’ll be lame for life—I know I will!” he groaned. “Oh dear, how it hurts!”
“You take care that you don’t get blood-poisoning from it,” warned Gus. “When you 130 get home wash it well, and put some peroxide of hydrogen, or something like that on it.”
“Blood-poisoning! Oh dear!” and Nat gave another groan.
“Shall we help you back to your boat?” asked Dave.
“If you will.”
“Where is the wild man?” questioned Gus, looking around.
“I don’t know, and I don’t care—just now,” answered Nat Poole.