When the Cock Crows

by Waldron Baily

The Morton camp was not unlike other Adirondack camps owned by the wealthy New Yorker. It consisted of vast acres of wonderful forests, where conifers and hard wood intermingled. Through the tract wandered a pellucid trout stream. At a glance, one would know that those waters were teeming with wonderful trout, that many a big fellow of the finny tribe inhabited the depths that waited for the angler's lure.

The comfortable camp, built of rough-hewn logs with low sloping roof overhanging broad verandas, was built upon a bluff immediately above and overlooking the home of the most elusive, the most splendid speckled beauties—the trout that are the most savory on the table and the gamest in the water.

This morning, Roy Morton was well content with the world. It was late summer, and something of the languor of the season coursed in his blood. He sat on the porch, watching idly the dimpling waters below in a pool. He had an eager eye for the occasional leap of a trout to the surface in search of prey. He watched appreciatively the glint of rainbow tints on the iridescent sides as the fish rose and the sunlight showed all its splendor. While he gazed, at intervals, Roy worked on his fisherman's tackle. As the trout leaped, he studied that for which they leaped—with an idea of fashioning flies to suit their capricious taste. He finally determined just the fly that he should use for a cast at this hour of the day in order to entice the appetite of the trout. He had that particular fly upon his leader in readiness for a cast, and had started toward the stream to test his judgment in playing on the appetite of a fish, when his attention was distracted by the approach of an ungainly boy, evidently a native.

The boy held in his hand a telegram. Roy dropped his tackle, and held out his hand for the message. Mechanically, he tossed a coin to the lad. Then he ripped open the envelope and read the message.... And he read there Ethel's frantic appeal for help.

Roy was equally amazed and alarmed as he read and its meaning penetrated his brain. Usually, he was a young man distinguished for his coolness, resourcefulness and courage. Now, however, for the time being his brain was dazed; his heart leaped with fear. Through long minutes he stood motionless, staring with unseeing eyes, as if striving in vain to penetrate the veil of this terrible mystery that hung between him and the girl he loved. His thoughts were a miserable whirl of confusion; his will was powerless to marshal them in order. He did not note the going of the messenger boy, who sauntered casually back over the way he had come, whistling in happy unconsciousness as to the suffering of which he had been the harbinger.

Then, presently, Roy's mind cleared; his heart grew brave again; he felt a frantic desire for instant action. He looked about for the messenger boy, and uttered an exclamation of anger as he saw that the fellow was gone. He was desirous of sending on that very instant a telegram to the police authorities in New York, asking them to begin an investigation at once. He shouted for the boy, but there was no answer, and he realized that the messenger was gone beyond recall.

Roy wheeled, and rushed into the house. He ordered a horse saddled, and within five minutes was galloping at breakneck speed for the station. He knew that the next regular train was not due for three hours, but he had decided without any hesitation that he would order a special. He felt that no haste could equal the necessity now when Ethel was momently being carried further and further away from him, when perhaps her life, her honor, were imperilled by the scoundrels who had her in their keeping.

On his arrival at the station, Roy issued his orders with a crisp air of authority that won instant obedience from the man who served as station master and telegraph operator. The telegraph key sounded busily for a few minutes, and the matter was arranged. A special would be ready for him within an hour. This would get him to Albany in time to make connection with the limited express for New York.

That accomplished, Roy cantered leisurely back to the camp. As he rode, his mind was concentrated on plans for his future course. He resolved to keep the matter secret from his elderly mother, who was by no means in good health. Instead, he would merely tell her that a friend of his was in trouble, and that he must go immediately to New York, in order to straighten out the affair. His mother accepted his explanation without any suspicion that he had told her only a half-truth. She merely mourned over this interruption of his visit, and made him promise to return at the earliest possible moment. Roy felt shame over the subterfuge with which he had deceived his mother, but he knew that it was necessary for her own sake, while her knowledge of Ethel's plight could do no good.

Roy hastily, but methodically, packed his traveling bag, and then, after an affectionate farewell to his mother, stepped into the town wagon, and was driven to the station.