CHAPTER XIII.
"Caw! Caw!" sounded with startling distinctness in the still, darkwooded depths of Ross island. For a moment the silence was intense;then it was broken again by the familiar, long-drawn out, gutturalcry, "Caw! caw!" of the black scavenger bird. And silence once moresettled down upon the scene, and seemed deeper, thicker and moreprofound than before.
It may have been a half a minute after the second cry when an answer,faint, though clearly audible, was echoed from a neighboring part ofthe woods.
"Come on!" quietly exclaimed Sam Harris, who, with John Thorpe, stoodbeside the trunk of a fir that grew midway on the island near itsnorth end.
"An uncanny signal!" remarked Mr. Thorpe, in the same low tones.
"Yes, somehow I feel as though it betokens serious business," softlyreplied Sam. "Be careful. A thick vine here. Step clear," hewhispered, as they moved cautiously along.
They had proceeded in silence some distance, part of the time gropingtheir way by the aid of a match, lighted now and again, but artfullyconcealed, for the darkness was very deep, when through a rift in thewild growth of underbrush a man's form was seen to move.
"Wait!" suddenly whispered Sam, in a warning tone. "There is a manahead of us."
There was no mistaking it, for as they stood stock-still in theirtracks, they saw a man's form occasionally obtruding between them andan electric light that shed its rays from afar off, across the water.
"Do you think he is the detective?" asked Thorpe, in a low voice.
"Wait!" and Sam placed his two hands over his mouth so as to form ahollow, and called out in moderate tones: "Caw! caw!"
It was answered by a single "caw," low, but seemingly so near thatthey were startled, and for a moment felt that they were beingdeceived.
They remained motionless and silent--Sam with his hand grasping thebutt of a revolver.
The "caw" was repeated low, but with reassuring effect, for they nowdiscovered that while the sound was apparently near, due toatmospheric conditions, it was in reality fully two hundred feet away.
"Detective Simms," whispered Sam. "He is waiting for us."
"Then let's hurry," urged his companion.
The words had scarcely left his lips when Thorpe's boot caught in avine and down he went, making considerable noise as he stumbled andfell on his hip.
"You must be more careful," enjoined Sam, in a low tone, as he helpedThorpe to his feet.
"Much haste, less speed, and then a little noise may endanger oursuccess, I fear. Are you hurt?"
"No, thanks. Let's go on," impatiently replied Thorpe.
As they drew near the detective, in order to make doubly sure ofavoiding a trap, Sam uttered in a low voice the word "Hope!" It was awatchword previously arranged and provided as an additional precautionagainst a possible contingency of deep darkness rendering promptrecognition difficult.
It was answered by the word "Good," uttered in equally low andcautious tones, and which at once put them at their ease.
Almost immediately they met the detective at the edge of the clearing.Before them, a little to the left, dimly but clearly outlined againstthe harbor lights, was a typical Willamette River cabin, commonlyknown on the waterfront as a "scow dwelling," moored about fifty feetfrom the shore, broadside on. It was the object of their venture.
So intent were they on sizing it up, and the problem of boarding it,that they were quite insensible to the magnificent panorama spread outbeyond, and further to the left of Portland by night. At their feetthe dark, shimmering Willamette silently glided along its course tothe mighty Columbia; the great bridges on which the street cars, in ablaze of light, swiftly crossed and recrossed the gloomy river; thedarkly-outlined towering masts of the ocean shipping in the lowerharbor, the great industrial landmarks that reared their lofty shadowsin different parts of the city. The myriad of bluish electric lights,that shone out like diamonds in the clear, balmy night, spread outover the city and up and up, in terraces and by gradual stages, to thehills, and along the heights that stretched away north-westerly. Formiles on either side of the river the lights spread out, till atlength, in diminishing brilliancy, they were lost in the shadow of thedistant rugged hills, whose irregular dark-wooded crests were sharplydefined against the rare splendor of the firmament, then aglow withglittering stars.
In fact, all the grandeur of the far-stretching panorama was neglectedand lost to them in the intensity of their gaze upon the humbledwelling before them, built on a raft of logs.
(Booms of saw-logs are now moored abreast the cabin anchorage.)
Sam left Thorpe and the detective and wormed his way nearer the shore,to a position where he could obtain a better view of the cabin. Lyingflat on his stomach, and concealed as much as possible, behind somedriftwood and low, dead brush, he listened intently, and studied thesituation with the practical eye of the frontiersman. He made out thecabin to be about twenty-four feet long, seven or eight feet high,with two small windows on the side which was nearest him. There beinga light in one of the windows, he concluded the cabin was divided intoat least two parts. The logs upon which the cabin was built projectedsome four feet at either end, on which was a platform, but noprotecting railing. Proof that the occupant was not a family man, as"scow-dwellers" with children are careful to have railings about theircraft.
He judged that the logs were large and water-soaked, and securelyfastened together, and by their combined weight effected a certainstability and steadiness to the cabin resting thereon, during badweather.
There appeared no means of reaching the cabin except by boat orswimming, and the mud of the river bottom at that point was evidentlydeep. Now and again he heard voices in the cabin, seemingly inaltercation. But the distance was too great for him to distinguish thewords. The quietness was profound except for the gentle lapping of thewater, and disturbed occasionally by ripping sounds from a sawmillsome distance down the river, which, if anything, added to thestillness instead of diminishing it.
Once he started at what sounded like a moan very near him, but it wasso indistinct, so much like a faint whispering whistle, and it wasimmediately succeeded by the buzzing whirr of a bat as it dartedabout, and deep silence again environing him, that he dismissed thesound as a fantasy.
He was mentally calculating upon the chances of a surprise and rescue,and in an attempt to drag himself a few feet nearer the water-line tocatch, if possible, some words of the conversation going on in thecabin. He stretched out his right hand to grasp what appeared to be apiece of driftwood, to aid in pulling himself along. His hand fellupon the dry, warm body of some animal.
He almost yelled aloud, so great was his fright. For a moment hisheart beat madly. But the same strength of will that rushed to his aidin smothering the yell also quieted his agitation and restored hisconfidence.
The incident had almost jeopardized the favorable prospect of theirenterprise. But nothing untoward happening, he again put out his handand touched the body. It was warm and did not stir. The animal waslying on its side, and he plainly felt a faint throbbing of its heart.He ran his hand down its legs, then along its spine to a large limb ofa tree that lay across its neck. He concluded that it was a little dogwhen his hand felt a small rope wound tightly about the limb.
His curiosity being fully aroused, he determined upon furtherinvestigation. Not daring to light a match he did the next best thingthat occurred to him. Still retaining his prone position, Sam passedhis hand along the dog's spine to the fore shoulder, and under thepiece of wood, to its neck. Then he discovered the poor thing was inthe last throes of strangulation. Its breathing was scarcelyperceptible. Its tongue, swollen thick, protruded from its mouth.
Instantly his sympathy for the little sufferer became acute, and,without thinking of possible results should the dog recover quickly,whipped out his knife and severed the coils of rope about the limb.Using his left hand as a lever, his elbow being a pivot, he pried upthe weighty limb and with his right hand drew the dog from under itand to him. He quickl
y unwound the few remaining coils from around itsneck, and as he did so, smiled with pleasurable emotion--for he wassure that he felt a feeble lick of the dog's tongue on his hand.
A dog's life is an inconsequential thing, according to some people'sway of thinking, but here was proof that under Sam's rough andunpolished exterior there throbbed a heart full of gentleness andsympathy for suffering animals. He took the dog, which he thenrecognized as a small, shaggy Scotch terrier, under his arm and stoleback to the detective and Mr. Thorpe.
In discussing the affair afterward, it was deemed probable that thedetective, finding his long vigil at the edge of the woods tiresome,had unconsciously fallen asleep; though he indignantly denied it, andduring that time the dog had been taken on shore and tied to a heavypiece of driftwood to give warning of the approach of strangers bynight, but the poor thing had become tangled in the brush, and in itsefforts to extricate itself had tightly twisted the rope about itsneck, and the heavy limb had rolled over and pinioned it to theground.
In the meantime Mr. Thorpe and the detective were engaged in low,earnest conversation.
"Are you satisfied the child is my little Dorothy?" asked Mr. Thorpe.
"I am not positive, but I believe so. I have watched all the afternoonin hopes of catching a glimpse of her. Once I heard a child cry."
"Yet the child may not be Dorothy!"
"True!" replied the detective, "but whether the child be yours or not,I am satisfied the little thing in that cabin is there against itswill."
"Did you note any visitors to the cabin this evening?"
"Yes; a man rowed over from the direction of 'Bundy's' about half anhour ago. He is in there now."
"Do you think the Italian, his visitor and the child are the only onesthere?"
"I am positive they are the only ones in that cabin at this moment."
"Then let's wade out there," urged Mr. Thorpe.
"Careful!" cautioned Sam, who had just come up. "I know the Dago to bea cunning and dangerous man. We could not wade out that far any way,in the soft mud and tangled roots of that bottom. We must have thesmall boat."
"What have you there?" It was the detective who spoke.
"Our first rescue. A mascot!" and then Sam related the incident.
"Good!" exclaimed Mr. Thorpe. "Its bark would have betrayed us."
The three then held a brief consultation. Shortly afterward Samretraced his steps along the trail, back to the steam launch, with the"mascot" steadily recovering, but still under his arm.
An Oregon Girl: A Tale of American Life in the New West Page 19