One pole marking a half mile flew by, then two, three, four. Two miles already covered! Only three yet to go. His legs began to tire, but his wind was good. Another pole and still another. Three miles now! He began to pant. His chest was straining, his breath was labored. He knew that he had reached the end of his first spurt, but he also knew that this was only temporary.
Another half mile and he had gotten his second wind. Now he felt as though he could run all day. He threw off his coat, his kit, his hatchet. Everything that could possibly hinder him he shed as he went along. He wasn’t going to carry an extra ounce. Another pole went by. He dashed through a brook and dipped his head under for a moment; then, refreshed and dripping, he ran on. Oh, if he were only in time!
His clean life and strong vitality were helping him. If he had spent his strength in excesses, he would have been absolutely helpless in this great emergency, but young, untainted life surged in him. He called on all his resources and they responded.
Four miles now! Another pole and only a half mile more! The main road was in sight. On and on he flew. Now he was within a few rods. He caught a glimpse of a white horse, with Mr. Scott holding the reins and Flannigan getting down to remove the branches of a tree that blocked the path. The next instant he dashed into the road just in time to see Red O’Brien fling himself upon Flannigan who was bending over the tree, while Jacques Lavine with uplifted cudgel rushed toward Mr. Scott.
CHAPTER XVIII
BALKED OF THEIR PREY
Though taken by surprise, Flannigan was a man of ready resource and tremendous strength. His life had been spent among the rough men of the woods, where muscle and courage were constantly called into play. Again and again he had come to hand grips with some of the wild characters of the district and he had always come out with flying colors. He had a reputation throughout the North Woods as a rough-and-tumble fighter. His heart was as stout as his arms, as many a lumberjack filled with drink and ferocity had found to his cost.
At this supreme moment his long experience stood him in good stead. The warning shout of Mr. Scott, as the robbers rushed forth from the thicket, told him of instant danger, and he turned so swiftly that Red, instead of leaping upon his back, as he had intended, met him face to face. Before he could swing his cudgel, the hairy arms of Flannigan closed around him.
Back and forth the giants struggled, their eyes glaring, each trying to get at the other’s throat. Sheer strength and courage must decide that battle. They surged back and forth, their muscles stretched to the utmost. At first the result hung in the balance. Neither gained a decided advantage. All their passions were unleashed. Red fought for his liberty and Flannigan for his life. Neither one thought of giving in. Neither intended to give any quarter. They were more like wild beasts than men.
As Lavine lifted his cudgel to strike Mr. Scott, the latter dropped the reins and, snatching the whip from the socket, swung the heavy butt on the robber’s shoulder. With a savage curse Lavine dropped his cudgel, and at that instant Jack hurled himself upon him and bore him to the ground.
They rolled over and over like a pair of wild-cats. Lavine was the stronger, but Jack the quicker. The ruffian tried to get his great, gnarled hands on Jack’s throat, but his agile adversary eluded his attempt at a strangle hold. With muttered oaths Lavine tried again and again, but suddenly finding this unavailing, his hand went down to his belt and Jack knew he was feeling for his knife. Now indeed it was a fight for life. If the maddened wretch could get that knife out of its sheath, all would be over. Jack redoubled his efforts, but the tremendous strain was beginning to tell. Had he been fresh, he might have had an even chance and his agility might have proved a match for the Frenchman’s strength. Slowly but surely he felt the knife being drawn up inch by inch. He grasped the knife hand and twisted it with all his might. Into that twist he put all the power of his young and well trained strength. With a howl of pain and rage, Lavine shifted his knife to his other hand. Jack felt the wrist he was twisting snap, then the knife in the other hand gleamed before his eyes and the knife fell once, twice. Jack felt a keen pain like a red-hot iron flash through his shoulder. He heard the yell of the Scouts as Dick and Tom rushed through the bushes and flung themselves upon Lavine. His grasp relaxed, his head was strangely light, the trees danced around him, he felt that he was sinking, sinking ten thousand fathoms deep, and then for the second time that day he lost consciousness.