“What’s the matter, old fellow, aren’t you happy here?” Hugh asked, whereat the dog came to him, nuzzled his hand with his long wet nose, then ran to the door again.
His insistence was so great that at last Hugh felt forced to lift the latch, open the door and let him go. He bounded over the sill and disappeared instantly into the dark. Not for long, however, for Hugh had not had time to close the door before he was back again, shoving his nose beseechingly into the boy’s hand, jumping about him and whining again and again. There was no doubting what it was he wished.
“It’s a nice night for you to be asking me to go out with you,” remonstrated Hugh, “but—well, you are Dick Edmonds’ dog and we have been looking for you and him for a long time.”
He stepped back into the cabin with Nicholas at his heels and took up his coat and cap. At the sight of this, the dog’s joy knew no bounds; he leaped about so that the furniture of the little cabin rocked and swayed under the force of his gigantic delight. Hugh put on his warmest clothes, got out a pack and put into it blankets, food, matches, anything he could think of that might be needed. He had no idea how far Nicholas would lead him, how long he would be gone or what he should find. At the last minute he took Oscar’s revolver down from the wall; there had been two, but one his friend had evidently taken with him. He quenched the fire, put out the light and was finally ready. With Nicholas running ahead, barking in loud delight now that his desire was understood at last, they set out into the storm.
The rain was still driving in sheets across the hill and the wind sweeping furiously along the open spaces. The darkness was so dense that at first Hugh could do nothing but feel his way down the trail which Nicholas so unhesitatingly followed. When his eyes became a little more used to the dark, however, and the trees began to shelter him from the stinging rain, he could make out the windings of the steep path, could distinguish the dog, white and ghostly, traveling steadily ahead of him, and finally could see the foaming white flood of the stream that poured downward to the lake between him and Jasper Peak. Nicholas advanced to the very edge of the creek, stopped and looked back.
“You don’t mean that we are to cross that?” exclaimed Hugh in dismay, gazing down at the tossing water.
Such, however, was plainly Nicholas’ intention, for without further hesitation he plunged in and began to swim across. The wild current caught him and whirled him down the stream, as Hugh could just make out. The black mass of a floating log shot by and barely missed him, but none the less he struggled on and finally, a dim white form in the dark, scrambled out upon the opposite bank.
What a dog could just barely accomplish was certainly impossible for a boy with a heavy pack. Hugh remembered that half a mile up the stream a huge tree had fallen across from bank to bank, making a bridge by which he might get over if the rush of the flood had not carried it away. Nicholas, whining with anxiety, followed along on the other shore, as Hugh made his way with difficulty to where the tree should be. Yes, it was still there, high out of water at each end but with the furious current pouring across it in the middle. It looked like none too safe a crossing, but it was the only one. He attempted, at first, to walk upright, but soon found that impossible, so stooped, and was at length reduced to crawling painfully along on hands and knees. The cold water swirled about him as he approached the center of the stream, the current seemed trying, with direct intent, to tear loose his hold and wash him away. The tree-trunk quivered and trembled under the mighty force that was hurled against it, but it held under his weight as slowly he crawled along, felt the current lessen, came into quieter water and was at last safe on the other side, with Nicholas standing up to lick his face.
“Now, then, where next?” questioned Hugh as the dog immediately set off up the mountain. The rain and wind were less violent on this side of the ravine, so that their progress was quicker as they climbed upward. It was fortunate that it was so dark, Hugh thought, for it seemed as though they were about to pass uncomfortably close to the Pirate’s cabin. He plodded on, stumbling over roots, scrambling through bushes, finding the way very rough indeed. It was not until they came to the edge of a clearing and saw before him a little house with one lighted window and with Nicholas standing waiting on the doorstep that he realized what was to be the goal of this strange night journey.
Even then he thought of turning back. The perils of the rain-swept forest and of the swollen floods were as nothing to the dangers lurking in that evil dwelling that blinked at him with one staring red eye. Had not Nicholas run quickly through the dark to lick his hand, had he not thought once more of the lost Edmonds brothers and how he had pledged himself to help them, it is possible that he might not have gone on. Yet at last he stepped out of the woods, and, very firm and straight, walked across the clearing to the house.