They moved away from the big stone toward the far wall, the captor finding his progress a hard one, due to the energetic squirming of Buck. The boy expected a fierce warning any minute from the man and perhaps a blow to silence him, but the mountaineer was depending on his strength alone to carry Buck off and not so much as a single word came from him. Half dragging and half carrying Buck, he made his way to the wall furtherest away from the boys. The grass in the cemetery was soft and wet and Buck’s fighting progress made no sound.
They arrived at last at the wall and the man heaved Buck up and over like a sack of wheat and jumped with him over the low barrier. They were in the open field, with a few apple trees around and the deep woods a few scant yards away. Toward this dense wall of the thicker trees the determined man began to drag Buck, who by this time had succeeded in prying open his fingers so as to breathe between them.
Something unexpected happened. There was a swish near them which puzzled them both. The captor stopped in some bewilderment and then something hard struck him on the side of the temple, causing him to grunt and hesitate in his progress.
Back at the wall the boys had watched Buck’s progress as he went from stone to stone with his flashlight and they had remained quiet while he had worked his way deeper and deeper into the quiet graveyard. Drummer felt somewhat grieved that his leader had not taken him along but he kept the fact to himself. Buck’s light was seen once far down in the cemetery, close to a towering monument, and it was seen no more. Time dragged on heavily.
Impatiently, the boys waited at the wall, standing close together in the darkness. The quietness of the lonely country, the association of the graveyard and the uncertainty of the whole enterprise made them want to give up the affair and return to the camp. They thought somewhat wistfully of the warm campfires and their friends below, and they were anxious to get back. Before long they became restless and nervous.
“Confound it, wish he’d come back!” grumbled a boy.
“He’ll be right back,” reassured Drummer, secretly uneasy.
For the past few seconds Drummer had been smelling something that appealed to him. There must be an apple orchard nearby he decided, and where there was an orchard there must surely be apples. That particular brand of fruit was a great favorite with the stout boy, and after peering around for a moment or two he decided that the orchard must be at the end of the graveyard wall. He began to edge off in that direction.
“Where you going?” Bob whispered.
“To see if I can pick up an apple,” was the answer, as Drummer moved off.