The Silent Alarm

by Roy J. Snell

  CHAPTER II STRANGE SENTRIES

  "Thanks, jolly little friends," she whispered to the rabbits. "Sorry todisturb you, but it really has to be done."

  Clutching at her heart in a vain effort to still its wild beating, sheslid slowly out of the window. A gripping of the beams, a swinging down,a second of clinging, a sudden drop, a prayer of thanksgiving that heralighting place was grass cushioned and noiseless, and the next instantshe was lost from sight in the brush whither the three rabbits had fled.

  For a full moment she crouched there motionless, scarcely breathing,listening intently.

  There came no sound. Her guard was dozing in his chair.

  Her mind was in a whirl. Now that she was free, where should she go?Where could she go? Home, if she could find the way, or to EverettFaucet's cabin. Everett lived at the back of the mountain.

  Yes, she might go to either place if only she knew the way. Truth was,she didn't know the way. She had been carried about on horseback by hermysterious captors, covering strange trails, and at night. She was lost.Only one thing she knew--she was still on the back of Pine Mountain. Theway home led up this side of the mountain and down the other.

  A great wave of fear and despair swept over her. The whole affair, shetold herself, was a useless adventure.

  "I'll go back home to our cabin; give it up," she declared.

  She began the upward climb. Beating her way through the brush, shestruggled forward. It was heart-breaking work, making her way throughbrush and timber. Here a dense thicket tore at her, and there a solidwall of rock blocked her progress.

  "Ought to find a trail. Have to," she panted.

  With this in mind, she began to circle the slope. She felt the need ofhaste. Night was wearing away. The early morning would soon reveal her, alone girl in a strange and apparently hostile country.

  Panic seized her. She fairly flew through the brush until, with a suddencompact that set her reeling, she came upon a rail fence.

  Beyond the fence was a narrow trail. To her immense relief she found thatthis trail wound away up the mountain.

  That mountain trail was the longest she had ever taken. It wound on andon, up and up until there seemed no end.

  The cool damp of night hung over everything. The moon, swinging low inthe heavens, cast long, deep shadows far down the trail. Now a startledrabbit, springing into the brush, sent the girl's heart to her mouth. Nowthe long-drawn bay of a hound at some distant cabin sent a chill runningup her spine. Frightened, alone, quite without means of protection, shehurried on.

  Then suddenly, as she rounded a corner, she caught the sound of voices.

  "Men," she said to herself with a shudder.

  The next instant she was silently pushing herself back into the depths ofa clump of mountain ivy that grew beside the trail.

  The men were coming down the trail. Now their voices sounded moreclearly; now she caught the shuffle of their rough shoes, and now heardthe heavy breathing of one as if carrying a load.

  As they came abreast of her, she saw them dimly through the leaves. Thenfor a second her heart seemed to stop beating.

  "A dog," she breathed. "A long-eared hound!"

  As the hound, with nose to the ground, came upon the spot where she hadleft the trail, he stopped short, gave a loud snort, then startedstraight into the bush.

  "Come on, you!" one of the men grumbled, seizing him by the collar. "It'sonly a rabbit."

  The dog struggled for a time, but a kick brought him back to his placebehind his master and they traveled on down the hill.

  "Saved!" the girl breathed as she dropped weakly upon the ground.

  "And yet," she thought as strength and courage came back to her, "whyshould I fear everyone here behind Pine Mountain?"

  Why indeed? The experiences of the past hours had made fear a part of hernature.

  Once more upon the trail, she hurried on more rapidly than before. Dawnwas on its way. The jagged peaks of the mountain ahead showed faintlygray against the dark sky.

  "Have to hurry," she told herself. "Have to--"

  Her thoughts broke short off and once more she sprang from the trail.Other men were coming. The night seemed filled with them.

  This time, finding herself in a narrow grass grown trail that led away atan angle from the hard beaten main trail, she hurriedly tiptoed along it.

  "Not another narrow escape like the last one," she thought.

  She had followed this apparently deserted trail for a hundred yards whensuddenly she came upon a cabin.

  Her first thought was to turn and flee. A second look told her that theplace was abandoned. Two panes of glass in the single window were brokenand before the door, displaying their last fiery red blossoms, twohollyhocks did sentry duty.

  The door stood ajar. For a moment she hesitated before the red sentries.

  "Oh, pshaw!" she whispered at last. "You dear old-fashioned guardians ofa once happy home, I can pass you without cracking a stem or bruising ablossom."

  Putting out her hands, she parted the tall flowers with gentlest care,then stepped between them. For this simple ceremony, inspired by her loveof beauty, she was destined in not so many hours to feel supremelygrateful.

  Inside she found a lonesome scene. The moon, shining through the singlewindow, struck across a rude table. A dark cavern at the end spoke of afireplace which once had offered ruddy comfort.

  A ladder leading to the loft stood against the wall. Without thinkingmuch about it, she climbed that ladder. Somewhat to her surprise, shefound the attic half filled with clean, dry, rustling corn husks.

  "Someone stowed his corn here. Husked the corn and left the husks."

  "How--how comfortable," she sighed as her weary body relaxed upon thisspringy bed.

  "I'll rest here for a moment," she thought, "rest here for a--fora--rest--"

  The next moment she was fast asleep.

  Hours later she awoke with a start. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Then,catching the rustle of corn husks, she remembered where she was.

  "Must have fallen asleep," she said, a feeling of consternation comingover her. "And now it is--" She gazed about her questioningly.

  "Now it is daylight," she finished as she noted a bright bar of sunlightthat fell across the floor. "Here I stay until dark."

  Here she remained. Once she left the cabin for a moment to slake herthirst at a spring that bubbled out of the rocks just back of the house.Both in coming and going she reverently parted the hollyhocks before thedoor.

  "Probably some childish hands spilled the seed that started them growingthere," she told herself. "I wonder where that child may be now?"

  The attic was silent, too silent. In one dark corner a fly, caught in aspider's web, slowly buzzed his life away.

  There was time now for thinking. And she did think, thought this wholeadventure through from its very beginning.

  It is strange, the unusual opportunities for adventure and romance thatcome to one in out-of-the-way places. Florence, with her chum, Marion,had been invited by Mrs. McAlpin, Florence's aunt, to spend the summer inthe mountains. They had come, expecting fishing, swimming and mountainclimbing. They had found time for these, too; but above all, their summerhad been filled with service, service for those whose opportunities hadbeen far fewer than their own.

  The one great service they had been able to render had been that ofconducting a summer school for the barefooted, eager little children whoswarmed the sides of Big Black Mountain. It had been a real pleasure toteach them. Strange to say, though there was a public school at the mouthof Laurel Branch, little was ever taught in it. The teacher, who knewnothing of grammar, geography or history, and little enough of "Readin','Ritin' and 'Rithmatic," took the school for no purpose save that hemight draw the public money. The school, which was supposed to last sixmonths, he brought to an end as speedily as possible. If no children camehe could go back to his farm work of putting away his corn crop orrolling logs
to clear land for next year's harvest, and he could do thisand still draw his pay as a teacher.

  The schoolhouse, a great log shack with holes for doors and windows, waswithout either doors or windows to keep out the weather. Before the coldautumn rains the little group of children who came to drone out wordsafter their disinterested teacher vanished like blackbirds before thefirst snow, leaving the teacher free for other things.

  Now all was to be changed--at least the girls hoped so. They had beenteaching the summer school for six weeks when Ransom Turner, a sincereand ambitious man who had the good of the community at heart, had come tothem proposing that they remain through autumn and early winter and teachthe public school.

  Here was an opportunity to make a real contribution, to set a model forall time, to give these simple mountain folks an idea of what schoolshould be.

  "Of course," Ransom Turner had said, "we'll have to elect you a trustee."

  "A trustee!" they had exclaimed in unison, failing to understand hismeaning.

  "Of course. You don't think that worthless scamp that's been drawin' thepay and not teachin' any could get the job unless he'd elected a trustee,do you? But leave that to us mounting folks. You jest say you'll take theschool an' we'll elect you a trustee."

  "But the schoolhouse!" Florence had remonstrated. "It's bad enoughnow--flies, and all that--but in cold weather it would be impossible."

  Ransom's face had clouded. "Can't be helped none, I reckon. They hain'tno funds fer hit. Doors and windows cost a heap, havin' to be brought inas they do. Us mounting folks are most terrible poor, most terrible."

  The two girls had considered the proposition seriously. They were not yetthrough the University. It seemed a little hard to give up the first halfof their school year. They caught visions of great buildings, swarmingstudents, laughing faces, books, libraries, all the good things that goto make University life a joyous affair. Yet here was an opportunity foran unusual service. Could they afford to refuse? They had talked it over.In the end Florence had said to Ransom:

  "If you can manage the trustee and we can get some money to fix up theschoolhouse, we will stay."

  To this Marion had given hearty assent and Ransom Turner had gone awayhappy.

  Money for the new school! It had been their desire for just this that hadput Florence in her present strange and mysterious predicament.

  It had been a very unusual proposition that Mr. John Dobson of the DeepRock Mining Company had made to them, a proposition that held greatpossibilities.

  They had gone to him to ask him to help them with money for the school.He had told them that his company had no fund for contributions such asthey asked. He had not, however, turned them away entirely without hope.

  "The company, of which I am President," he had said, "is a comparativelysmall one. The stock is not owned by any one rich man, or by a group ofrich men. It is owned by a number of men who own a little property andwho hope to improve their position by wise investment. These men look tome to bring about the success they hope for. Unfortunately, at thepresent time we are short of coal lands. The railroad up this way hasbeen built for several years. The coal land that lies along it has beenbought up by rich companies, principally the Inland Coal and CokeCompany, which is so large that it has come to be looked upon asvirtually a monopoly in these parts.

  "There is but one field left to us." His eyes glanced away to the crestof Pine Mountain. "At the back of that mountain there is coal, plenty ofit. Land is cheap. At present there is no railroad, but there is apersistent rumor that the M. and N. proposes to build a spur up thatcreek. They will build it. But when?" He had risen to pace the floor ofhis small office. "When? That's the question."

  "The directors of the railroad," he had gone on after a long pause, "areto hold a meeting next week. They may decide upon the spur at that time.If it is to be built within the next year, there is a tract of land backhere that we want--want badly. It is owned by a man named Caleb Powers.The price is twenty-one thousand. Needless to say, our rich rival willwant it. They may be able to secure advance information regarding thecoming decision of the Directors of the M. and N. In that case we aredefeated. If they do not, we have a chance. The first person to get toCaleb Powers after the spur has been decided upon, will get the land."

  Here he had paused and looked Florence squarely in the eye.

  "That's where you come in," he had said steadily. "That is, if you wishto. I am to be away in another section of the mountains next week--can'tbe here. You want money for your school?" He had stared hard at the girl.

  "Y-es, we do."

  "Well then, here's your chance. One of you go back behind Pine Mountainand there keep in close touch with Caleb Powers. The other must remainhere until news of the decision regarding the proposed spur comes. I willarrange for a messenger at the rail's end. As soon as the messengerarrives you must make all haste to reach Caleb Powers. I will give youthe earnest money--five hundred dollars. If the spur is to be built andyou succeed in purchasing the land, I will pay you a commission of tenpercent."

  "Think of it!" Florence had exclaimed. "Twenty-one hundred dollars! Allthat for the school!"

  Visions of a warm, cozy school room, brightened by many happy, glowingfaces, passed before her mind's eye.

  "Of course we'll try it," she had said with quiet resolution.

  "Of course," Marion had echoed.

  "And now it has come to this," Florence said to herself as she stirredupon the rustling corn husks of her bed in the deserted cabin whichformed her temporary hiding place.

  Once more her mind went back to the broken sequence of events. It hadbeen agreed that she should cross over the mountains and stay with afriend of Mrs. McAlpin who lived at the back of Pine Mountain.

  "And I will keep you posted by means of the Silent Alarm!" Marion hadexclaimed.

  Until now the Silent Alarm had been little more than a plaything. Now itwas to be of some real use. Florence's older brother, who had been in thegreat war, had told her how, by the use of signal lamps, flashlights andthe Continental code he and his comrades had been able to signal to oneanother even across a point of the enemy's trenches. He had explained thematter to her in detail, had also taught her the code. Often at night,from some distant hillside, with a flashlight and the barrel of adismantled shotgun, Florence had signalled to Marion at the cabin. AndMarion, with some similar simple apparatus, had signalled back.

  The simple-minded, superstitious mountain folks, having seen thesestrange stars blinking away against the mountain, had whispered weirdtales of witch light and of seeing old women riding a cloud at night. Allthis had greatly amused the girls and they kept their secret well.

  "Now," Marion had said to Florence when she started on her mission, "whenyou get to your destination back there, I'll climb this side of themountain to the crest and we'll get in touch with one another by signalfires. After that, when the big news comes, I'll climb the mountainagain. If it comes in the daytime I will use a heliograph; if by night,some form of tube and a flashlight."

  As you have already seen, by the aid of Marion's beacon fire on themountain's crest, they had established communications. But under whatunexpected conditions this was done! Florence had been the prisoner ofstrange men whose motives in holding her were unknown. This she hadflashed back to Marion. She had added a warning not to try to come toher.

  Bearing this startling news, Marion had retraced her steps to Mrs.McAlpin's cabin.

  "And here I am a fugitive," Florence sighed as she sat up among the cornhusks. "A fugitive from whom? And why? The message will come and I willnot be able to deliver it. The coal tract will be lost to the Inland Coaland Coke Company and our hopes for a schoolhouse will be blighted.

  "But no!" she clinched her fist. "It must not be! There is yet a way!"

  The message did come, a message of great good news. It came on the wingsof the wind, came to Mrs. McAlpin and Marion, late that very afternoon.

  In the meantime, on the mountain-side near the cabin
in which Florencewas hiding, strange things were happening. Florence was wondering aboutthe identity of the rough mountain men who had made her prisoner. Werethey feudists? Or moonshiners suspecting her of being a spy? Or realspies themselves, employed by the great mining corporation to trap her?Or were they just plain robbers?

  Such were the thoughts running through her mind when she caught the soundof a cheery note outside the cabin. It was the _chee-chee-chee, to-wheet,to-wheet, to-wheet_ of a mountain wren. The song brightened her spiritsand allayed her fears.

  "As long as he keeps up his joyous notes I need have no fear," she toldherself. "The appearance of someone near would frighten him into silence.

  "Dear little friend," she whispered, "how wonderful you are! When humanfriends were here you came each year to make your nest in some niche intheir cabin. Now they are gone. Who knows where? But you, faithful totheir dream of happiness, return to sing your merry song among theruins."

  Even as she whispered this, her ear caught a far different note, a dreadsound--the long-drawn note of a hound.

  As this grew louder and louder her heart beat rapidly with fear.

  "On my trail," she thought with dread.

  As the sound began to grow fainter she felt sure that the hunters, ifhunters they were, had passed on up over the main trail. Hardly had thehope been born when it was suddenly dashed aside. The solid thump-thumpof footsteps sounded outside the cabin, then ended.

  For a moment there was silence, such a silence as she had not experiencedin all her days. Flies had ceased to buzz. The little brown wren hadflown away.

  Then a harsh voice crashed into that silence.

  "Reckon she are up thar, Lige?"

  "'T'ain't no ways possible," drawled the second man. "Look at them tharhollyhocks. Narry a leaf broke. Reckon airy one'd pass through that doorwithout a tramplin' 'em down?"

  "Reckon not."

  "Better be stirrin' then, I reckon."

  "Reckon so."

  Again came the solid drum of feet. This grew fainter and fainter until itdied away in the distance.

  "Good old hollyhocks! Good little old sentries, how I could hug you forthat!" A tear splashed down upon the girl's hand, a tear for which noneshould be ashamed.

  Even as the footsteps of the men died away in the distance, Florence feltthe shadow of the mountain creeping over the cabin.

  "Soon be dark," she breathed, "and then--"

  She was some time in deciding just what should be done. Her first impulsewas to take the up-trail as soon as darkness had fallen and to make herway back to her friends.

  "But that," she told herself, "means the end of our hopes."

  At once there passed before her closed eyes pictures of brave, laughinglittle children of the mountain; ragged, barefooted, pleading children,walking miles over the frosts of November to attend their school, thefirst real school they would have known.

  "No!" She set her teeth hard. "There is still a way. I will wait here forMarion's signal. It will come. If she has news, good news, somehow I willfind my way to Caleb Powers. Somehow the race must be won!"