CHAPTER XIX
THE MYSTERY OF THE MILL
Henry Burns, slipping quietly away from the farmhouse on the hill,tramped joyously through the snowdrifts to the highway, "caught a ride"on a sledge going in to Benton and started homeward. He had not riddenfar, however, when a double-seated sleigh appeared in sight, whichseemed even at a distance to be familiar. It became more so when, atlength, he made out clearly a white horse belonging to Tom Harris'sfather, and, occupying the two seats, his friends Tom and Bob, JackHarvey and George Warren.
Perhaps they didn't give three cheers and a tiger when they espied HenryBurns! Jack Harvey and George Warren, struggling down the road throughthe storm of the afternoon before, had worried not a little about him,and would have gone back to his aid, if they could have done so. But thewind and snow had been too fierce; and they could only plod on, hopingthat his usual luck and cleverness would not desert him, and that hewould gain shelter in time.
They seized Henry Burns now and tumbled him into the sleigh, in roughand hearty fashion; and they turned about and drove back to Benton atthe very best pace that the big horse could make through the snow. HenryBurns told the story of the night, as they proceeded.
"Say, that's like a story out of the library," remarked George Warren."Just think of it! Little Bess a sister of the Ellison fellows. What didthey say, Henry, when you told them?"
"Nothing," replied Henry Burns. "I didn't give 'em a chance. I got outquick."
"Well, I'm mighty glad for her," exclaimed Jack Harvey, heartily. "She'sthe pluckiest little thing I ever saw. I'm glad she's got a good home atlast."
It was some time before Henry Burns spoke again. He seemed to beconsidering something soberly. Finally he said, "Yes, and they need themill now, more than ever, with her to care for. I wonder if they'll everget it."
The mill passed out of mind, however, for some time, when there fellstill another great snow on the following day, heavier than thepreceding storm. It piled drift upon drift, and made the roads aboutBenton, for miles in every direction, impassible. It shut each farmhousein upon itself; the Ellisons in their home; Colonel Witham and GrannyThornton alone in the Half Way House. The old mill was silent for awhole week.
Then there came a magazine to Tom Harris, bringing a timely suggestionto the boys of Benton. It told of the snowshoe of the Norwegians, theski, with which a runner could travel through the deep drifts of loosesnow, and coast down the steep hills, as easily as on a toboggan. Soon,working in spare hours, each youth had fashioned himself a pair. Theygot the long, thin strips of hard wood, steamed the ends and curled themlike sled runners, sand-papered and polished them, and put on the strapsof leather to hold the toe.
They learned how to go through the drifts with these, sliding the shoealong through the loose snow, instead of lifting the foot, as with theCanadian snowshoe. They got each a long pole, to steady one's self with,and practised sliding down the terraces of Tom Harris's garden, standingerect and doing their best to keep on their feet.
When they had had their preliminary tumbles, and were proficient in thesport, they started off one day and went along up stream; tried thesteep banks that led down on to that, and found it more exciting thantobogganning.
Tim Reardon used his skis to get up above the dams, where thespring-holes in the stream were. And, through the Christmas holidays, hemade his headquarters at the cabin that belonged to the canoeists, whichhe kept hot by a rousing fire. Day after day, he set out from there,skiing his way up stream, dragging after him a toboggan on which wasloaded a pail half filled with water. In this swam his live bait,winnows that he had caught through the ice in the brook. Also he carriedan axe, a borrowed ice chisel, some lines and other stuff.
One might have seen him there, through the afternoons, watching sharplythe five lines that he tended, and varying the monotony of waiting by anoccasional ski slide down the neighbouring bank.
He had five holes chopped through the ice, and a line set in each,baited with a live minnow. This line was attached to a strong, limberswitch of birch, set up slant-wise over the hole, with the butt stuckfast in a hole chopped in the ice and banked with snow. And this switchflew a little streamer of coloured calico; so that Tim had only to seethe streamer bobbing up and down, at any distance, to know that therewas a pickerel fast on the hook.
He had famous sport there for ten days or more, for the fish werehungry, and bigger ones came to the bait than in summer. Every third dayhe went back in to Benton with his catch, which he had kept packed insnow, sold them at the market, and was fairly rolling in wealth; andwhen, one afternoon, he hooked and landed an eight-pound fish, andtravelled to town with it, and saw it set up in the market, with a signon it to the effect that it had been caught by Timothy Reardon ofBenton, he was the proudest boy to be found anywhere.
Then, just following Christmas, there was a glorious dinner up at theEllison farm for Henry Burns and his friends, in honour of Little Bess.Tim got an invitation to that, too, through his loyal friends, HenryBurns and Jack Harvey; and he and Joe Warren ate more than any fourothers, and Young Joe, who had absconded with the most of a huge mincepie, left over from the dinner, was found afterward groaning on thekitchen sofa, and had to be dosed with ginger and peppermint, so that hecould partake of cornballs and maple candy later on.
And there was Bess Ellison--Bess Thornton no longer--looking remarkablypretty and uncommonly mischievous, dressed no more in dingy gingham, butin the best Mrs. Ellison could buy and make up for her; and she held outher hand to Henry Burns and took him in to Mrs. Ellison, who saidsomething to him that made him come very near blushing, and nearly losehis customary self-control.
There was Benny Ellison, also, who was dragged in by Bess, and made toshake hands with Henry Burns, and call old scores off; so that even hewarmed into enthusiasm, and enjoyed himself with the others.
Then, somewhere about that time, there was a lawyer's visit to the HalfWay House, where there were certain papers drawn up, and signed byGranny Thornton, with a trembling hand; which made it sure that LittleBess would no more be uncertain of her home and her parentage, but wouldremain where she belonged, up at the big farmhouse.
So the winter passed and the spring came in. Its days of thaw made theold stream groan and crack, as the great ice fields split here andthere, and seams opened. There were nights when the water, that hadoverflowed at the edge of the ice fields, close by the shore, andformed a narrow stream on either side, froze fast again; so that therewas a glare thoroughfare for miles and miles up the stream into thecountry, of ice just thick enough to bear the boys of Benton.
They made excursions far up along shore this way, skating at furiousspeed; pausing now and then to set fire to the bunches of tall driedgrasses and reeds, that protruded through the ice in the midst of thestream. These flamed fiercely at the mere touch of a match.
Then, as it grew later, this overflow at the edges of the ice fieldfroze no more; but lay, several feet deep of clear water, over that partof the ice. They could get on to the stream then only at certain points,where the ledges made out, or by throwing planks across. Soon the waterbegan to pour with a louder and louder roar over the old Ellison dam,and a stretch of clear, swift-flowing water opened up for some distanceback of it.
It became rare and dangerous sport, in these days, to get out on the icefield and work at a seam with planks and poles, prying loose a greatsheet of the still thick ice, and watch it go over the dam. It had amost spectacular and awe-inspiring way of making the plunge. A greatblock of the ice, several yards square, would drift swiftly down, shootfar over the edge, then break apart of its own weight, the huge chunksfalling with a mighty splash and commotion into the boiling pool below.Down they would go, like monsters of the sea, borne by the momentum oftheir plunge from the height. Then they would shoot upward, liftthemselves out with a dull roar amid the seething mass of water andsmaller ice, rise above the surface, fall again, and, caught in theembrace of the swift current, go tossing and crunching down towardBenton.
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Little Tim's sheer delight in this sport exceeded that of all others. Hedisplayed a recklessness that brought upon him the assertion by JackHarvey that he was "a double-dyed little idiot;" and Henry Burns gavehim solemn warning that some day he would go over the dam, if he didn'tstop taking chances. But they couldn't check Tim's ardour. He was thehardest worker, with ice-chisel or pole, and the last to leave a sheetof ice that had broken loose and started down stream. For, not alwaysdid the ice sever at the point where they were working, but sometimesabove them; so that a sharp watch had to be kept against the danger ofbeing caught on an ice patch, and carried along with it.
Then, through the days of working thus at the field, and by the naturalwearing away with the spring thaw, the water gained its freedom more andmore; so that there was now a quarter of a mile of black open waterbetween the dam and the edge of the ice.
There came, then, a memorable afternoon, which had been preceded by aday of rain, loosening up the bands of winter far and wide, raising thewater in the stream by the inrush of countless little brooks all alongits course; whereby the whole ice jam, and in some places, fields oflogs that had been stored shingle-fashion for the winter, creaked andgroaned and snapped, and the whole valley of the stream was filled withthe noise of the dissolution. Farmers and mill men eyed the scene withsome apprehension, and talked of freshet. Tim Reardon eyed it withdelight, forecasting days of warmth and fishing in store.
The boys from Benton were upon the stream, that afternoon, though theyknew, deep in their hearts, they had no business there; that it wasdangerous; that the whole ice field was shaky. They worked at the icewith might and main, and cheered lustily when some great cake wenttumbling over the dam.
Then, of a sudden, there came a cry, that started somewhere on shore,ran all along the banks of the stream and came down to the boys at theirplay--a cry of alarm and warning. They looked about quickly. What wasthe danger? Persons on shore were pointing far up stream. The nextinstant, they discerned the whole great ice field, as far as they couldsee, in motion; crumbling about the shores and heaving up into hummockshere and there. Then they felt the ice beneath their feet moving. Thedeliverance of the stream from winter was at hand. The ice was goingout.
The wild scramble for shore was a thing not to be forgotten. Some of theboys had travelled away up beyond the vicinity of the dam, where thelogs were stored within a boom. It was perilous footing across these,for the few moments that it took to regain the shore. The water openedhere and there, in which the logs churned and slipped dangerously.
It was every one for himself, then, and lucky to gain the bank withoutbruises, or a ducking--or worse. It was all so sudden, so terrifying, soconfusing, that no one paused to see who else was in danger.
But when Henry Burns and Jack Harvey and George Warren, Tom and Bob andJohn Ellison had gained the shore, a cry came in that turned them. Awayover toward the other shore, they espied Little Tim and Bess Ellisonscrambling desperately. Where the girl had come from, they did notknow--only that she was there now, and in peril.
There was no hope of their regaining the farther shore. Already the icehad opened up to such an extent that a great gap of running water laybetween the two and that bank. Would they be able to make the flightacross?
A cry of horror went up from shore now; for, even as the boy and girlseemed to be nearing safety, a part of the field on which they stoodseparated from the rest, and began its journey down stream. But, withthis, there was added to the dread and dismay of those who gazed thefact that the sheet of ice held two more captives. Henry Burns andHarvey had rushed across the ice to the rescue, only in time to betrapped with Tim and Bess.
They could all swim, but the attempt must have been fatal. The openwater that now lay between them and the shore was filled with smallblocks of ice, ground by the larger masses. One could not make headwaythrough that. Was there any chance? Little Tim saw one.
Grasping Harvey by an arm, he pointed to a seam in the ice. "Chop there,Jack!" he cried. "Here, Henry, take my ice-chisel; you're stronger thanI am. If we can cut loose, perhaps we can work in shore on the smallpiece."
They saw the chance--a desperate one--and took it. Holding in his handsthe chisel he had been working with, Harvey began chopping furiously atthe seam in the ice. Henry Burns, with Tim's chisel, did likewise. A fewmoments' work sufficed. The section on which they stood, already halfbroken away, yielded to the efforts of the two. It cracked, severed fromthe larger part, teetered dangerously and drifted away. The four werefloating on a junk of ice that would just support them.
The cry went up to get a rope; and John Ellison and George Warren darteddown along shore toward the mill. Using the blades of the heavylong-handled chisels, as best they could, for paddles, Henry Burns andHarvey strove to force the heavy block of ice toward shore. Theysucceeded in a measure, but they were going steadily and surely downstream.
It seemed ages before John Ellison and George Warren emerged from themill. They had encountered Colonel Witham there, just as they hadgathered up a long coil of light rope. He, anxious for the fate of hismill in the impending freshet, had not heard the cries farther up shore,and knew nothing of what was going on. He darted after them, as he sawthem hurrying toward the door, demanding to know what they would do withhis rope. They had no time to explain. Colonel Witham found himselfshouldered out of the way, and sent spinning, by John Ellison; and whenhe caught himself they were rods away.
Standing now upon the shore, opposite the drifting cake, John Ellisonhanded one end of the rope to George Warren. Taking the other end, heseparated the line into two coils, whirled one about his head and threwit far out. It fell short, splashing into the water. He tried again, andfailed.
"HE SEPARATED THE LINE INTO TWO COILS, WHIRLED ONE ABOUTHIS HEAD AND THREW IT FAR OUT."]
The ice raft, with its four prisoners, was driving faster now, caught bythe swifter water. It was nearing the dam.
"Let me try once," said George Warren, as they shifted their placesfarther down shore, following the ice.
He went at it more carefully; took time to arrange the coils so theywould run free through the air; gave a hard swing to the coil in hisright hand and let it fly. Henry Burns, reaching far forward to meet therope, was almost on the point of grasping it; but it seemed to recede asit fell, losing force and splashing into the water a few feet away. Thenext moment, Henry Burns was overboard, in the icy water, seizing theend before it sank, upborne as it was by floating ice.
He fought his way back, and Harvey and Tim dragged him to safety,chilled, and his teeth chattering. Then the four grasped the rope andheld hard. George Warren, with a sailor's instinct, had found a stoutbush by the bank and taken a few turns of the rope about that.
The cake of ice, arrested in its course, brought up, while the swiftrunning current overflowed it. The four were ankle deep in water. Butthe rope held. Slowly, but surely, the ice raft yielded to the strain.It came in, out of the rush of the current, into quieter water. Ittouched the shore--and the yawning brink of the dam was only a few rodsaway.
They were ashore now and running for the mill, where there was a firethat would warm them. They were half frozen, with the chilling of thewater and with the fright. Even Colonel Witham, mindful now of thesituation, was there to let them in and allow them the warmth of thefire.
"You're soaking wet," he said to Henry Burns. "There's some old clothesthat Jim Ellison left, hanging in that closet on the floor above.They'll swallow you, but they're dry."
Henry Burns darted up the stairs.
As he did so, the stairs trembled and shook beneath his feet. The wholemill seemed to be quivering on its foundations. At the same moment, acry went up from the outside that the dam had given way. The crowdgathered on the bank saw a piece of the dam suddenly collapse, throughwhich aperture a mass of logs, grinding blocks of ice and debris from upstream tore its way.
Then screams came from the mill. Terrified, the crowd, gazing, saw oneside of it totter and sway. The sound of wrenchin
g timbers, collapsingframe-work and the twisting of iron filled the air.
Henry Burns, clutching a window frame, saw the panorama of the stream intumult, of the shattered dam, and of the distant shore, suddenly open upbefore his eyes, as a great mass of the mill, its foundations torn away,sagged off and plunged into the waters. He, on the upper floor, and hiscompanions on the floor below, found themselves at once upon the brinkof the swift-running waters of the stream, saved, as by a miracle, bythe other half of the mill remaining firm.
Looking now upon the wreck, Henry Burns espied a strange thing. Threepair of the huge grinding stones had gone with the destruction of thatpart of the mill. One pair alone remained, just before him. It was thatpair upon which, on one occasion, James Ellison had placed his foot, insatisfaction, and remarked that all was safe; stones that had ground nogrist for years before James Ellison's death, but which had beendisconnected from the shafting.
Now they were half upset, and one lay wrenched from the steel threadthat had held it down close to the lower one. Thus there was disclosed aspace cut in the lower stone, that held a small tin box, such asmerchants use for papers.
Henry Burns stared, for one brief moment, in amazement. Then, crawlingcautiously over, he seized the box and darted back to the window. Heswung himself out on to a small roof that covered the door below; hungfrom that for a moment, and dropped into a heap of snow that had beenshovelled into a pile there. At the same moment, the little party on thelower floor rushed forth into safety.
* * * * *
What they found in this box, a half-hour later, when it was openedbefore all, in the Ellison dining-room, fairly took their breaths away;fairly made the old house creak with the whoops that filled it; madeMrs. Ellison weep a flood of joyous tears; nearly set John and JamesEllison clear out of their wits.
The old mill--wrecked to be sure, but valuable still, and easily to berestored, with the rebuilding of the dam--the old mill was theirs. Therewas the deed from Colonel Witham back to James Ellison, to prove it.There were the deeds to the lands--all theirs now; no longer ColonelWitham's. And more, and greater still the surprise. The old inn, theHalf Way House, was not Colonel Witham's, at all. It had been JamesEllison's, and there were the papers to show that. It was theirs now,and all the land for acres around it. They were no longer poor. JamesEllison's bank had been found at last. The old mill's secret had beentorn from hiding by the freshet.
Some days later, following a protracted visit on the part of LawyerEstes to the Half Way House, there emerged from the doorway of the same,at evening, a portly person that could not be mistaken. He brought outthe horse from the barn, harnessed it to a carriage, and drove away downthe road at a furious pace.
The next day, Colonel Witham was missing from the inn and from Benton.
"Have him arrested?" responded John Ellison, in answer to his brother'squery; "I don't care about that. He's gone, and good riddance. Hello,there come Henry Burns and Jack Harvey. Let's all go down and take alook at what's left of the mill."
"Poor gran'," said Bess to Mrs. Ellison, half timidly, "what will becomeof her now?"
"We'll bring her up here, dear," said that motherly woman, "and takecare of her during the little life she has left. We can't leave her allalone down there." And Bess danced gaily away to join the boys, her lasttrouble gone and nothing but joy ahead.
The Rival Campers Ashore; or, The Mystery of the Mill Page 19