/^ A TVHPA T"KT ^1T TTTV"VL T Y Tr^ 1 
 
 CAP IAIN CLIFTON LIS
 
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 UNI?. OF CALIF. LIBRARY. LOS ANGELES
 
 Sandy motioned sharply, his pistol cuddled close to the cape 
 over his right arm.
 
 SANDY FLASH 
 
 THE HIGHWAYMAN OF CASTLE ROCK 
 
 BYi 
 
 CAPTAIN CLIFTON LISLE 
 
 Author of "Diamond Rock," ''Fair Play," "The Daniel 
 Boone Pageant," "Christmas on the Meuse," etc. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY
 
 COPYRIGHT, IQ22, BY 
 HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY, INC,
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I THE CANDLESTICK . I 
 
 II THE TRAPS , 23 
 
 III THE HEARTH RUG ... . ; .... 43 
 
 IV THE RIDLEY OTTER ......... 62 
 
 V THE STAG OF HUNTING HILL ...... 85 
 
 VI THE BEAVER DAM . 113 
 
 VII THE CAVE 135 
 
 VIII THE ESCAPE . . . , 157 
 
 IX THE BATTLE OF THE PRATT .., . . M . 178 
 
 X THE LOST TRAIL . 202 
 
 XI SIGNAL HILL .......... 217 
 
 XII THE MASK ..... , . . ; . ... 235 
 
 XIII THE LOG SET . M . . . . : 254
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 SANDY MOTIONED SHARPLY, HIS PISTOL CUD- 
 DLED CLOSE TO THE CAPE OVER HIS RIGHT 
 ARM Frontispiece 
 
 FACING PAGE 
 
 THERE WAS A FLASH OF GRAYISH FLANK AS THE 
 STAG TURNED AND LEAPED 92 
 
 THE HORSE THUNDERED PAST THEM IN A SCUD 
 OF FLYING SNOW, THE RIDER LOW BENT ON 
 THE ANIMAL'S NECK 178 
 
 I COULDN'T DRAW SWORD NOR PISTOL, FOR THE 
 FELLOW'S PISTOL AT MY BACK 276
 
 } 
 
 SANDY FLASH 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 THE CANDLESTICK 
 HAT'S the very thing we're looking for, Bob! 
 
 the snow?" .The younger boy bent eagerly forward bet- 
 ter to examine the track before him. 
 
 "I see it's a trail all right, and not a cottontail's. 
 Blessed if I know what made it, though. D'you, Dave?" 
 The taller lad smiled in half-hidden amusement at the 
 eagerness with which his chum was seeking to unravel the 
 mystery. 
 
 "Surely! You would, too, if you'd only put in more 
 time out in the woods like me, 'stead of fooling with that 
 horse of yours every chance you've got from chores. It's 
 a coon made it. Coon, Bob, and here's where we get 
 him!" 
 
 "I say, Davey! Hold hard! Don't be so cock sure of 
 everything. I mayn't know much about trapping, but 
 I've hunted coons myself with houn' dogs too many times 
 not to know something of 'em. They live in trees, I'd say. 
 Tall ones mostly. If a fellow chases 'em, why they " 
 
 " 'Course they do! I've seen their hairs, black like,
 
 2 SANDY FLASH 
 
 sticking to the old gums over on Blue Hill many a time. 
 Once you get 'em on the run, they make for the highest 
 tree they can see. It'll be an evergreen, like as not, if 
 there's one close by. And then they keep its cover be- 
 tween 'em and you. I know all that. But they stay on 
 the ground lots, just the same, when it's quiet. I've found 
 their marks round hollow logs and stumps. That's why I 
 hunted so close for a trail in here. Look at this well, Bob, 
 and you'll be able to mark it better the next time." 
 
 The two boys bent down to study the tracks at close 
 quarters. There they were, quite clear in the soft snow, 
 leading across a little glade in the forest toward the near- 
 by stream. 
 
 David Thomas, the younger boy, was a lad of fifteen, 
 wiry to the point of leanness, but lithe and supple and 
 tough as a bit of hickory. The Welsh blood in him 
 showed in the high-cheeked eager face and darkish hair. 
 The boy loved all outdoors with a silent sort of passion 
 that he could not well explain. To walk the woodland for 
 untold miles, by himself, in any kind of weather, to watch 
 his trap lines and cubbies in winter and fish and hunt 
 and stalk in summer and fall, this brought a glow to his 
 mind and a tingle to his muscles that enabled him to stand 
 far more than many a lad years older. Dave Thomas 
 had lived all his life on a farm near the Rose Tree in 
 Upper Providence and he knew from daily practice the 
 meaning of a farm boy's chores. They came first. Once 
 done, however, and done thoroughly, then he was free to 
 make what use he would of his spare time. His father, 
 Hugh Thomas, was a fair man and a wise one, for all his 
 strict ways of rearing a family, since by such an under-
 
 THE CANDLESTICK 3 
 
 standing with his boy, Dave not only did his chores gladly, 
 but well. He knew that on this depended his chances for 
 a Saturday now and then with traps or gun in the woods 
 near his home. That, to the boy, was as the very breath 
 of life. 
 
 The old Welsh blood, with its dark touch of aloofness, 
 ran unusually strong in him, tending to make him a bit 
 broody at times and apt to keep apart from other boys his 
 own age. His life-long friendship for Bob Allyn, how- 
 ever, was unshakable. It was the best thing in the world 
 for him, too, as it served the purpose of bringing him out 
 of himself. The very contrasts in their natures drew the 
 lads together unconsciously. 
 
 Bob Allyn, fair and rugged, was nearly seventeen, a 
 good deal taller and heavier than Dave, but lacking the 
 quickness of thought and action that marked his chum. 
 Bob loved horses and dogs with the same feeling that 
 Dave loved his traps and his lonely forest trails. The boy 
 was able to do much with the young stock on his father's 
 place near Sycamore Mills, thanks to this same sym- 
 pathetic understanding of them. He had broken in more 
 than one colt that the men had almost despaired of. The 
 very calmness of his Scotch nature, his way of thinking 
 things out thoroughly, a bit at a time, enabled him to gain 
 a control over animals and impart a confidence to them 
 that many seemingly keener boys could never hope to 
 equal. Bob made no claim of understanding trapping, 
 however. His interests were in riding and jumping and 
 schooling young horses far more than in the pitting of his 
 brains against the wild things of the wood. 
 
 This morning, thanks to Dave's repeated urging, he had
 
 4 SANDY FLASH 
 
 made an exception and ridden over early from Sycamore 
 Mills, bent upon joining his chum in a day's tramp along 
 the banks of Ridley, and a search of the possibilities for a 
 new trap line near Hunting Hill in Edgemont where game 
 was still plentiful. The winter had been a cold one and 
 pelts had primed in splendid fashion some time before 
 this Saturday when the mid-December frosts had broken a 
 bit and the waters of Crum and Ridley ran free from ice 
 almost as though a spring thaw had come. Winter mild 
 spells come that way now and again in the County of 
 Chester, and the year of Our Lord 1777 was no exception. 
 A slight fall of snow the previous morning had left a clean 
 slate for tracking and the boys had been quick to take ad- 
 vantage of the ideal conditions. 
 
 "Couldn't be anything but a coon track, Bob; look 
 here," Dave was on his knees pointing. "See how it's 
 shaped just like a foot with long toes. A regular mark 
 like a little child's bare foot, only for it's being smaller. 
 Coons always make " 
 
 "Reckon you're right, Davey, now we can see it well. 
 I remember a track like that last summer. It was in the 
 dust of our garden patch, but I wasn't sure what made it. 
 It was the time when the sorrel filly was coming along so 
 nicely at the jumping and I didn' have half a chance to 
 puzzle it out. Sure was fond of sweet corn though, coon 
 or no coon. I say " 
 
 The chill, midwinter hush of the forest snapped sud- 
 denly with a sound that brought both boys to their feet. 
 From the top of Hunting Hill, high above, there had rung 
 out a sharp cry for help that cut through the frosty air 
 like the crack of huntsman's thong. There was a mo-
 
 THE CANDLESTICK 5 
 
 merit's silence, as the echo died away far beyond Edge- 
 mont and the Willistown Hills. Then came once more 
 that faint call for aid, shrilled by distance, yet throbbing 
 with mortal pain or terror. That was all. Bob dropped 
 his traps and began to struggle after David up the slope, 
 the unexpectedness of the alarm sending his heart thump- 
 ing wildly against his ribs. 
 
 The pitch of Hunting Hill was steep and the snow, 
 though only an inch or two in depth, had a provoking way 
 of slipping downhill beneath the boys' feet as their mocas- 
 sins pressed through it to the matted leaves beneath. 
 Dave, more familiar with the woods and in better condi- 
 tion for climbing, soon outdistanced his companion, but 
 the latter kept at it close behind him up the slope. Since 
 that second piercing cry for aid, no further sound had 
 disturbed the frozen chill of the noonday. As they panted 
 on to the more or less level summit of the hill, the boys 
 broke into a run, forcing their way through the under- 
 brush in an endeavor to reach the spot whence the call 
 had come. That there was urgent need of haste there 
 could be no doubt. 
 
 The speed of the racing lads soon checked to a jog, then 
 to a struggling walk, as a tangled thicket of greenbriers, 
 foxgrapes and thorns barred their way. Dave paused, his 
 quick mind seeking to recall whether or not he had ever 
 found a path round them on previous tramps to the hill. 
 Bob did not hesitate, but without a thought for rent 
 clothes or thorn-scratched face, he crashed into the thicket 
 and fought his way to the other side. For once, he had 
 acted with a speed that left Dave in the rear. His great 
 strength stood him in good stead. The boy literally tore
 
 6 SANDY FLASH 
 
 his passage clear, leaving a lane through which the 
 younger lad could squirm. 
 
 As he burst free from the clutch of the greenbriers, Bob 
 found himself in a little glade where a path crossed be- 
 tween the trees, running off to the right. The boy's ruddy 
 cheek had a rip that slashed it from jaw to ear, so that the 
 blood trickled down his neck in crimson stain. There 
 was no thought of smarting face, however, in Bob's mind, 
 as he came into the open. In utter bewilderment, he 
 checked his pace, striving to understand the sight that 
 lay before him. 
 
 Across the glade, a score of yards away, just where the 
 forest path looped round a huge white oak, stood a man 
 on tiptoe. Yet, strangely, he seemed to be leaning back 
 against the tree. Both arms were high above his head. 
 Dave pushed his way clear of the bushes and halted be- 
 side Bob Allyn, alike dumbfounded, as he tried to make 
 out the meaning of what he saw. The man before them, 
 standing half sideways to the boys, was stripped to the 
 waist and for all his reaching upward, never uttered a 
 sound nor moved at the lads' approach. Something 
 seemed to be wrong with his breathing for his ribs rose 
 and fell spasmodically with strain. Dave recovered his 
 presence of mind first and leaped forward to see more 
 clearly what the man was about. 
 
 "He's tied, Bob ! Quick ! Get him loose ! " 
 
 A moment later both boys were beside the oak, working 
 at the rawhide thong that bound the prisoner's wrists to- 
 gether. The man, evidently well past middle age, was in 
 pitiful shape. His hands had been secured against the 
 oak's trunk where a small branch offered a convenient
 
 THE CANDLESTICK 7 
 
 fastening place for the thong. His coat of tough frieze 
 and his woolen shirt had been roughly snatched off, ex- 
 posing the upper portion of his body to the bitter winds 
 of the dying year. Across his chest swelled great raw 
 welts as though he had been lashed with a whip. One 
 cut had ripped the skin. That he had kept silent from 
 no choice of his own, was due to a gag, at first unnoticed 
 by the boys. The thing was fast choking the breath from 
 his lungs, as he strove to get air past the thick wad of 
 paper that had been crammed in his mouth and made fast 
 there by a strip of cloth partially covering his nose. 
 
 A slash or two from Bob's jack knife severed the thong 
 and allowed the man's body to slide forward to the 
 ground. A moment later, his numbed arms were free. 
 Bob chafed them in an effort to restore circulation, while 
 Dave tore the bandage from the sufferer's lips. The gag 
 seemed to have caused him the greatest pain. Soon his 
 panting ceased and he was able to stand on his feet. Hur- 
 riedly the boys helped him to put on his ripped clothing. 
 Then for the first time he spoke, his voice uncertain from 
 the ordeal. 
 
 "A narrow call, lads! An old fellow like me can't stand 
 over much of this weather in the buff! I'd frozen stiff as 
 any jack herring before long, muzzled and spread-eagled 
 that a-way!" 
 
 "What happened? Who " Dave looked about him, 
 seeking some explanation of the extraordinary position in 
 which they had found the prisoner. 
 
 "We heard a call for help and ran up from the creek," 
 volunteered Bob. "I say! What in the world did they 
 do it to you for? Who Where Ve they gotten to?"
 
 8 SANDY FLASH 
 
 "One at a time, lads, one at a time ! " The man swung 
 his arms and stamped about in the snow, trying to warm 
 his chilled and shivering body. "Are you armed? That's 
 the first thing. If you are, quick, give me your guns! 
 We'll try to catch the blackguard before he gets away. 
 He can't be half a mile from here right " 
 
 "We haven't a thing. Not even a pistol/' said Bob. 
 "We were trapping over this way " 
 
 "Then it's no use trying to find him now. Not the least. 
 We'd best hurry down to the road at Edgemont Corner. 
 There might be some people passing by to warn! I'll 
 have to raise the countryside! We'll " 
 
 "Let's start then; it'll be easy to follow the tracks if 
 we begin right off! 
 
 "Tell us what happened as we go!" Dave was quite 
 beside himself with excitement. 
 
 The man savagely stamped the wad that had been his 
 gag deep into the snow. Then he turned toward the 
 northern edge of the wood. Dave's mind was keyed to 
 its sharpest, as he tried to think out some plan of immedi- 
 ate action, but it was the more thoroughgoing Bob whose 
 inspiration helped the most. He paused suddenly. 
 
 "Oh, I say! Let's stop a second! That's the paper he 
 gagged you with ! None of us looked at it at all! Maybe 
 it might" 
 
 "Won't do any harm to look, if you can make head or 
 tail of it, chewed that a-way. I doubt it's more than any 
 old thing he had handy in his pocket though. Let's 
 hurry!" The man turned back without much show of 
 enthusiasm and watched Bob dig up the half-chewed pulp 
 from the snow.
 
 THE CANDLESTICK 9 
 
 A few minutes' effort at reading the legend soon con- 
 vinced them that their seeming loss of time had been well 
 spent. The paper was the upper portion of an official 
 hand bill or notice. Almost illegible from wind and 
 weather, it must have been roughly torn down from some 
 place where it had been posted. Its five minutes' lodge- 
 ment crumpled in the prisoner's mouth had not served to 
 make it the more readable, but between them the anxious 
 little group in the glade contrived to make enough of it 
 to serve their purpose far better than they had hoped 
 when they paused to look it over. 
 
 The paper was part of an official notice of the county 
 offering to all and sundry the sum of $1000 reward for the 
 capture, alive or dead, of a certain James Fitzpatrick, 
 alias Captain Fitz, alias Sandy Flash, twice a deserter 
 from the American army under Washington, now said to 
 be at large within the bounds of the said County of Ches- 
 ter, terrorizing the people, robbing the highways, waging 
 cruel war on patriotic Whig farmers and making it un- 
 safe, especially, for the tax collectors to venture abroad 
 without guard. The description followed. Tall, broad- 
 shouldered, of enormous strength, yet notedly active and 
 swift of foot, hair bright red the recent victim cried out 
 as he read aloud the items. 
 
 "I knew it! The man himself! The very spit of him! 
 His hair was red as a burning rick and his arms like the 
 beam of a Kennett plow! Sandy Flash! Why, he's 
 been" 
 
 "Sandy Flash!" Dave's voice shrilled high. "The 
 highwayman from Hand's Pass! He'd never come here 
 so far away, yet "
 
 io SANDY FLASH 
 
 "It couldn't be any one else! I knew it!" The man 
 shook the ragged paper at the boys excitedly. "To think 
 the ruffian nearly choked the life from me with the reward 
 for his own capture! It's like I've heard tell of him. 
 Hand's Pass, did you say? Why " 
 
 "Yes, in the Valley, where the Great Road to Lancaster 
 climbs over the hills," replied Dave, who had once visited 
 kinsfolk close by Duffryn Mawr and so knew the Valley 
 country well. 
 
 "I know that," answered the man, "but that's not the 
 only place he keeps hidden in from all the hue and cry 
 that's hot upon him for the villainy he's done the tax men 
 and the rest. I wish it were, but the rascal has a secret 
 place near where I come from out in Newlin. And he's 
 been seen, too, in West Bradford, more's the pity. 
 Only a" 
 
 "What more does the paper have on it? I say, we'd 
 best begin to get something done." Bob had been listen- 
 ing as eagerly as Dave, but felt that the time called for 
 action, not a recital of the highwayman's secret lairs. 
 
 They bent once more to decipher the rumpled, sodden 
 handbill, but little of value could be made of it. There 
 was a description of an accomplice of Sandy Flash, one 
 Mordecai Dougherty, with a lesser reward for his capture. 
 Colonel Andrew Boyd, of Sadsbury, Lieutenant of the 
 County of Chester, had a line calling upon all law-abiding 
 men to unite in capturing both outlaws, dead or alive. 
 The Executive Council endorsed this. The torn sheet 
 broke off at that point, but little more was needed. The 
 two boys looked significantly at the man as he returned it 
 to his pocket.
 
 THE CANDLESTICK n 
 
 "Lads, we're not clear of this fellow yet, not by a long 
 shot, nor won't be, long as we stand here gabbling in the 
 woods with nary a gun between us. Small doubt he's on 
 the Strasburg Road this minute, looking for my horse. 
 He must" 
 
 "Your horse! What happened?" questioned Dave. 
 
 "Come on, lads, we'll hurry along and I'll tell you the 
 whole thing as we go. But first suppose you tell me who 
 you are. Live near abouts?" The man moved off once 
 more toward the northern edge of the woodland and fol- 
 lowed the path at a rapid walk along the high ground that 
 swept in bare, snow-covered fields before them. Beyond 
 the next hill ran the Strasburg Road, the rutted lane that 
 crossed the dip of the valley from the hill south of Newton 
 Square, passed through Crum Creek ford, climbed a bit to 
 Edgemont, thence dropped down over Ridley near Hunt- 
 ing Hill, and on toward the Turk's Head Tavern far to 
 the west. Bob lengthened his stride until he had come 
 abreast of the man. 
 
 "Now then, we'd best get this thing cleared up from 
 the start," he said quietly, "if we're to catch anybody or 
 do any good at all. We know it's Sandy Flash and that's 
 all we do know. I'm Bob Allyn from Sycamore Mills 
 yonder in Middletown. This is David Thomas. He lives 
 by the Rose Tree over Blue Hill. What happened to you 
 on the road?" 
 
 Dave squeezed in beside his chum along the narrow 
 lane, as they hastened on. After a moment, the stranger 
 began his explanation. 
 
 "You're right, lad, right as trivets. A man can't da 
 much if he's in the dark. Nor boys, either. I'm glad
 
 ia SANDY FLASH 
 
 Fve got your names, for Hugh Thomas I've known this 
 many a day. Who doesn't know him, I wonder? The 
 best farmer that ever came out the Old Welsh Barony!" 
 The man smiled toward David, then continued. "It's 
 precious little I've to tell and mighty little pride I've got 
 left in the telling. I'm Peter Burgandine from Newlin 
 way. Your father, John Allyn, knows me, lad. I was 
 coming down toward Pratt House at the Square where 
 I've a cattle deal with Jehu Evans over to Marple. Know 
 Mm? Reckon you do, young Allyn. Just as I jogged 
 along a bit west of Edgemont, where the road goes high 
 over the hill, out steps a man from a patch of sumac and 
 cedar bushes. He was favoring the off leg right badly and 
 waved me to stop. 'Course I did, supposing he'd gone and 
 gotten hurt some way. As he came close, he sort of leaned 
 against my horse's shoulder. I started to get off and as I 
 swung clear of the pummel, he straightens up and reached 
 under his coat to snatch out a pistol! Then he leveled it 
 at my head. In broad daylight, mind you, not half an 
 hour gone!" Burgandine rubbed a moment at his wrists, 
 as he kept up his hurried stride. 
 
 "I had two pistols, loaded, on my saddle, but I hadn't 
 any time to get 'em from the holsters, as I was halfway 
 off before he showed his weapon. That man meant 
 trouble! He ordered me to let go the horse and he sent 
 it galloping down the road, pistols and all, with a wave of 
 his arm before I could snatch at the reins. Then he drove 
 me before him off the highway and over the top of the 
 hill, out of sight. What could I do with his pistol in the 
 crook of my back?" The old man laughed slyly. "I went 
 along with him quiet as a lamb all right. Who wouldn't,
 
 THE CANDLESTICK 13 
 
 seeing that the money for the cattle deal was in two little 
 bags at the bottom of the holsters! He never so much 
 as" 
 
 "Didn't the fellow get the money after all?" broke in 
 Bob. "Oh, I say" 
 
 "That was clever all right! But where'd your horse 
 get to?" Dave pressed forward, eager to learn more. 
 
 "The good Lord only knows," Burgandine replied with 
 a hopeless shake of the head, as the three scrunched along, 
 over the dry snow. "Last I saw he was galloping past 
 the hill toward Street Road, gone clear to Westtown or 
 Thornbury by now, I reckon! Well, boys, I may have 
 saved the shillings for Friend Jehu, don't know yet, but 
 it came precious close to tallying me dear! Once clear 
 of the road, the blackguard searched me from top to toe 
 and only found a couple of fippenny bits. He must have 
 thought I was carrying money, for he went into a rage at 
 not finding any. Then I began to see in what a dangerous 
 pickle I was. I reckoned at the time it must be Sandy 
 Flash. He poked me along before him, hidden by a 
 hedgerow, till we came to this path. Then we reached 
 the woods. I didn't know what he'd do next, but when 
 he began to threaten me with his pistol and say he'd blow 
 my brains out unless I told him where the money was, I 
 decided to make a break for it." 
 
 The man paused, scanning the empty landscape of 
 snow that rolled away in a great bowl-shaped hollow to 
 Newtown in the east. Not a thing moved, save a distant 
 crow, low flying, like a black smudge against the white of 
 the opposing hills. 
 
 "That was a mistake. As I jumped for him, he hopped
 
 14 SANDY FLASH 
 
 sideways, tripped me up and cracked me a nasty wallop 
 along the head with the barrel of his pistol. I'm not so 
 spry as I used to be, nor young as I was once, and it sent 
 me groggy a minute. By the time I'd come round, he had 
 me tied. Could have killed me. That's about all, I 
 reckon. The brute cursed me for a Whig and for trying 
 to get away and said he'd teach me a lesson and find out 
 where the money was at the same time. I think he tool^ 
 me for a tax man or a bailiff when first he spied pistols 
 on the saddle. 
 
 "You saw what he did. After he'd torn my coat off and 
 my shirt, trying to find money pockets in the lining, he 
 tied me up with the thong of my own riding crop, then 
 lashed at me with a hickory withe till I was fairly welted 
 raw! You saw it? I knew I'd freeze or die if he kept it 
 up, so I called for help. I'd been afraid to before when 
 he had me under his pistol, but now it was my only chance. 
 It seemed a precious slim one in this wild place. He may 
 have heard you boys climbing the hill. I don't know. 
 Anyway he stopped cutting at me all of a sudden and 
 pulled a crumpled bit of paper from his coat tails. That 
 was the gag and I nearly choked on it. Guess I would 
 have, if you fellows hadn't come up when you did. Then 
 he cut me one last fearful lash and walked off, saying he'd 
 leave me to think it over. He'd not been gone two min- 
 utes, though it did seem nigh a fortnight, when you came 
 through the briers. That's all there is to tell, I guess. 
 The thing now, lads, is get a posse and catch him, not 
 talk about it." 
 
 Peter Burgandine had received a manhandling that 
 might well have cooled the ardor of a younger man, yet
 
 THE CANDLESTICK 15 
 
 the sturdy old farmer of Newlin was as eager to come 
 up with the highwayman and bring him to justice as the 
 two boys at his side were keen to join him in lending their 
 aid. A few moments more brought them over the high 
 ground and in sight of the road that ran east to Edge- 
 mont crossways. There was no sign of Burgandine's 
 horse, so they turned into the lane and moved on quickly 
 toward the distant inn at Newtown Square, where the 
 farmer still hoped to meet Jehu Evans, the cattle man. 
 As they strode along, Burgandine continued his story. 
 The man, like most of his neighbors in Newlin and Marl- 
 borough, well understood the ill repute of the outlaw with 
 whom he had just dealt. Silencing the eager queries of 
 Bob and Dave, he began at the beginning so that they 
 might realize the danger they had missed. 
 
 "They call him Sandy Flash, lads, but his real name is 
 James Fitzpatrick," Burgandine explained. "I know, 
 because he hails from my part of the country out in 
 West Maryborough, across the Brandywine. I never re- 
 member seeing him, though. Had I, that hair of his would 
 have stuck in my mind ! It's more flaming fire than any- 
 thing else. John Passmore, by Doe Run, told me only 
 last week, when some one was speaking at the store about 
 Sandy Flash at Hand's Pass holding up the travel on the 
 Lancaster Great Road, Passmore, he up and told me the 
 man had been bound out to him as a lad years ago. 
 
 "Used to be a decent sort, at that, learning his trade, 
 blacksmithing and horseshoeing, same as you'd do or any 
 other young fellow in the country. He's the powerfulest 
 strength you ever heard tell of. A bull of a wrestler, John 
 Passmore said, and famous fine at hunting and rolling
 
 16 SANDY FLASH 
 
 bullets. Never did a scurvy trick all the time he was at 
 Passmore's place, he didn't, just wore his prentice apron 
 like a good one. Then the war came and he went with 
 the county troops to New York. The Flying Camp, it 
 was, they called it. But it ruined him. The discipline he 
 couldn't stand." Burgandine sighed, then went on. 
 
 "They say they flogged him for some little thing or 
 other and it turned him savage. Swam the Hudson River, 
 that he did, with bullets spraying all about him. They 
 caught him in Philadelphia town, where he'd gotten mixed 
 up with that brigand, Moses Doan, the terror of Bucks. 
 Well, the sheriffs, they clapped Sandy Flash into the gaol 
 on Walnut Street, like a shot, then, more fools they, they 
 went and let him out again. Because he said he'd go on 
 fighting with the redcoats! Fighting with 'em! He told 
 the truth for once. He tricked 'em fair! He fought his 
 own neighbors with 'em at the Brandywine last fall and 
 been hand in glove with Cornwallis ever since! \Vhen the 
 troops moved to the town, he stayed behind and look at 
 what a pass he's come to now, tying people up to trees and 
 lashing 'em with withes! There's not a farmer safe from 
 Tredyffrin to Nottingham! No, not from Coventry to 
 Kennett!" Burgandine stopped a moment to look up and 
 down the road, but the way was deserted. 
 
 As they passed a wood that covered a hill to their right, 
 Dave glanced up at the trees. It was the height of Castle 
 Rock, a place he had never trapped. Mentally he resolved 
 to give it a try, as soon as he and Bob Allyn should find a 
 chance to finish their line at Hunting Hill. 
 
 By the time Burgandine had ended his story, the trio 
 iad passed the Boot Road where it forked back toward
 
 THE CANDLESTICK 17 
 
 White Horse Hill. Soon they turned to the left at New* 
 town crossroad. Half a mile north of it was the Square. 
 The stone Pratt House Inn appeared as they topped the 
 hill. The tavern stood in the southwest angle formed by 
 the Goshen Road crossing the one through Newtowr*. 
 Fully a score of horses were tethered to the railing in 
 front of the door. 
 
 "What's happening at the Pratt?" cried Peter Bur- 
 gandine, as he saw the unusual crowd. "Surely there's no 
 sale to-day! 'Twas only Jehu Evans I looked to see 
 here. Hurry, lads, we'll have a tale to tell that'll set the 
 pack of 'em to horse and scouring the country in short 
 order!" 
 
 "We're in luck for sure," sang out Bob, catching the 
 eagerness in the farmer's tone and wondering how best 
 he could borrow a mount for the chase. "It won't take 
 us five minutes to gallop back across country to where 
 Flash" 
 
 "Looks as if they'd galloped a lot already," interrupted 
 Dave, his alert eye noting even at that distance the faint 
 steam that rose above the horses' flanks in the cold air. 
 "They've had a meet of the fox hounds somewhere and 
 then ridden here for a round of ale. I wonder " 
 
 Burgandine broke into a run. Followed by the boys, 
 he dashed in the tavern and flung back an inner door 
 leading to the taproom. The long chamber was crowded 
 to overflowing. A man, near the bar, was trying in a loud 
 voice to make himself heard. Most of the others were 
 standing round the fireplace, drinking country ale, scrap- 
 ing mud and snow from their cowhide boots and, them- 
 selves, shouting in a way that made it quite impossible to
 
 i8 SANDY FLASH 
 
 understand a word. As Burgandine slammed the door, 
 there was a momentary pause. The farmer from Newlin 
 was instant in availing himself of it. 
 
 "Quick, neighbors!" he cried, "Get what guns you 
 can and help! Sandy Flash's come down from the Valley! 
 Held me up this very morning not half an hour gone. Is 
 Farmer Evans here from Marple?" 
 
 "Sandy Flash!" The words roared from the man who 
 had been speaking as they entered. "Sandy Flash! Man 
 alive, we've just lost track of the devil after the hottest 
 chase that ever horse laid hoof to ground in! Raced all 
 the way from Brandywine to Crum Creek crossing! Saw 
 him last by White Horse hollow! Did you what did " 
 The man broke off with a bellow like a bull and smashed 
 his fist down upon the bar in excitement. A glass tumbler 
 lost balance and fell to the floor with a shatter of frag- 
 ments, but he gave no heed. 
 
 "The villain held me up, I tell you, in Edgemont! Just 
 under the butt of Hunting Hill!" Burgandine swung up 
 his arm for silence. "He must have gotten free from you 
 and" 
 
 Amid a babble of voices that almost deafened them, 
 Dave and Bob listened to the astounding story. It was 
 soon told. The men, farmers from Birmingham, had re- 
 ceived word that the hated highwayman was in their 
 neighborhood. Hastily they had formed a posse to ride 
 him down. Their clue had been good and they had suc- 
 ceeded in surrounding the wood in which the outlaw lay 
 bidden. By clever horsemanship, however, the man had 
 leaped a great worm-fence that bound the covert and so 
 escaped, only to be pursued for many miles. Not far
 
 THE CANDLESTICK 19 
 
 from White Horse in Willistown, he had eluded them as 
 their utterly exhausted horses fell far behind his condi- 
 tioned one. Disheartened, they had searched about here 
 and there, until, following the Goshen Road, to the east, 
 they had dismounted at the Pratt House Tavern for a 
 rest before their five and twenty mile ride home. The 
 men were dog-tired and in as ugly a mood as well could 
 be. The story of Peter Burgandine did not tend to make 
 them any calmer. Threats grew loud as the enraged men 
 plied the farmer and the boys with questions. First, how- 
 ever, they explained to them that Jehu Evans had not yet 
 come to the inn. 
 
 "We'll teach this Sandy Flash to tie up a peaceable 
 man ! A tree is what he needs himself, a good stout one 
 with a noose to it! That'd flash him, once and for all!" 
 The threat came from the big fellow who seemed to be in 
 charge of the posse. As he made it, he put down his 
 tankard and tapped a brace of pistols that were stuck 
 handily through his belt. "Come on, men, the boys'll 
 show us the way. Friend Peter has had enough for one 
 morning! Indian Hannah, by Newlin's Rock, will soon 
 heal his welts with a bit of her herb salve when he gets 
 home. We'll run this scare-cat to earth like the sneaking 
 fox he is. One round, all round, of the good old brown 
 October! Has everybody finished?" 
 
 "Not quite, sir! Seein' as I've not begun yet. Rest ye 
 merry, gentlemen all ! " The door swung open and a man 
 entered so quietly that neither Dave and Bob were aware 
 of his presence until his low-pitched voice had shocked 
 the noisy company to silence. There was not an instant's 
 doubt in the mind of any one as to his identity. His red
 
 20 SANDY FLASH 
 
 hair told that, as he swung off his great black hat with its 
 scalloped brim. Sandy Flash had little need of an intro- 
 duction to the posse that had been chasing him from 
 Birmingham and the Brandywine, at risk of neck and 
 limb, since early dawn. 
 
 Nor did he in turn seem in the least put out by finding 
 himself in their midst. Quite unconcerned, he swung the 
 muzzle of his old-fashioned, brass-bound pistol round the 
 room until every man there had felt it boring into the pit 
 of his stomach in a sickening personal sort of way. It 
 kept them, one and all, standing where they were. That 
 was exactly what the highwayman had counted on that 
 strange, contagious fear of the crowd held by the spell of 
 another's iron nerve. 
 
 "That's the way, me hearties!" He smiled. "Your 
 hands a little higher, over there. You ! " The voice steeled 
 suddenly and the man's hands shot upward toward the 
 raftered smoke-stained ceiling. "That's better. A jolly 
 ride enough, we've had! It's whetted me gullet, for a 
 fact!" 
 
 Sandy Flash motioned sharply, his pistol cuddled close 
 to the cape over his right arm. The crowded room in- 
 stantly obeyed, leaving a passageway from doorway to 
 the bar. Bob Allyn shrank back instinctively, as he saw 
 the man's burly form advancing. Dave was shoved into 
 the corner by the backward surge of the crowd against 
 him. Old Peter Burgandine sucked in his breath with 
 a gasp of anger and surprise, as he stood rooted to the 
 spot. Calmly, in no haste, the highwayman strode down 
 that roomful of armed men, every one of whom, with the 
 exception of the farmer from Newlin and the boys, had
 
 THE CANDLESTICK 21 
 
 come out with the express purpose of taking or killing 
 him. Each waited now for his neighbor to make the first 
 move. They waited too long. 
 
 For an instant only was the outlaw's back toward them. 
 Then he swung about just in time to sweep the swaying 
 forms to control once more with his menacing pistol. He 
 had won; they knew it. The rest was easy. Facing them, 
 he reached backward along the bar for a jug of apple 
 brandy. With his left hand he filled an empty glass and 
 drained it as though he were drinking a toast at his own 
 table. No one moved. No one spoke. 
 
 "Gentlemen, all! To our next! It beats huntin' the 
 fox!" He flung the glass in shivering fragments on the 
 sanded floor. "May she end for us both as sportin' a 
 frolic as this! Rest ye merry!" 
 
 Sandy Flash crossed the room toward the door, this 
 time keeping the men covered carefully as he moved. He 
 knew well that even cowed men cannot be goaded too far, 
 once they have begun to collect their wits. At the en- 
 trance he paused. Reaching under his long cloak, he 
 drew out a second pistol from his belt, cocked the flint- 
 lock with a snap and broke into a laugh. Then he shook 
 his first weapon free from the fold of the cape and tossed 
 it across the room toward the fireplace. It struck the floor 
 with a bang and clicked against an andiron, like a smith's 
 hammer on a forge. A man cried out sharply. Dave 
 stretched on tiptoe the better to see. The weapon ceased 
 rocking to and fro and lay twinkling on the stone-flagged 
 hearth, touched to fire by a shaft of light from a window. 
 It was a well-burnished candlestick of brass ! 
 
 The outlaw in pure bravado had held up the posse with
 
 22 SANDY FLASH 
 
 a candlestick. An empty candlestick, its butt concealed 
 beneath his cloak! He had picked it up from the hall 
 table of the inn before entering the taproom. Again he 
 laughed, real merriment in his tone. 
 
 Peter Burgandine could stand no more. The old man 
 broke from the crowd with a shout and leaped, bare- 
 handed, toward the door. He was a foot too late. The 
 jamb shook as the heavy oaken panels slammed to and the 
 key turned in the lock. Willing helpers rushed forward 
 and the stout old boards strained under the combined 
 weight of their shoulders, but galloping hoof beats told 
 them they were wasting their strength. As they burst 
 through the shattered planks, Sandy Flash disappeared 
 round a bend in Newtown Road to the north, waving his 
 hand in ironic farewell.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 THE TRAPS 
 
 THE next five minutes at the Pratt House would be 
 hard to describe. It was Bedlam on the rampage. 
 Bedlam with a temper worn thin by failure, weariness and 
 disgust at its own stupidity. The boys and Burgandine 
 were tossed aside by the rush, as the men from Birming- 
 ham crushed past them through the broken doorway. 
 There was a wild scramble at the horse rail. Each man 
 tried to get his mount untied first until amid kicks and 
 oaths and a cracking of whip thongs, the posse got under 
 way and galloped north. It looked like a vain pursuit. 
 
 "That horse of his can lead 'em a mile! I say, did you 
 see his stride?" Bob gazed after the last of the men as 
 they swept round the bend toward the Leopard Tavern. 
 "He's way ahead already!" 
 
 "I hope they shoot him dead," Peter Burgandine spoke 
 solemnly. "Lads, there's such a thing as law and order. 
 That murdering scoundrel has set authority at naught 
 within the county. 'T would be a blessing if the men 
 could catch him and chain him in the gaol!" 
 
 "I only wish I'd gotten hold of a horse!" Bob sighed. 
 "It's just like my luck to miss a chase like this. I reckon 
 they'll gallop twenty miles before they're through. Oh, 
 well, can't help it now, so there's an end to it! " 
 
 "How about the traps?" Dave, seeing the excitement 
 
 23
 
 24 SANDY FLASH 
 
 had ended as far as they were concerned, began to recall 
 the work they had set out to do. "I think we'd just as 
 well start back and set a few by Hunting Hill where we 
 dropped 'em." 
 
 Bob reluctantly agreed. Before they turned toward 
 home, however, the innkeeper came out of the door with an 
 invitation that they join Peter Burgandine in the kitchen 
 and eat a bite of dinner. Both boys accepted eagerly, be- 
 ginning to realize for the first time how far they had 
 tramped since breakfast and how long ago it was that they 
 had eaten. While the good wife bustled about and set be- 
 fore them two platters heaped with boiled beef and cab- 
 bage and flanked with a great bowl of sassafras tea, the 
 host showed them a secret chamber where he was busily 
 hiding what spare coin and silver he had in the inn. The 
 room was underground, a sort of dungeon reached through 
 the floor of the kitchen closet. 
 
 To tell the truth, however, Dave and Bob were more 
 intent on the steaming, wholesome food before them than 
 they were on the raising of the floor board and the lower- 
 ing of the ladder. Little did either of them dream of the 
 part that same hidden chamber was to play in their lives. 
 Had they any way of looking into the future, they would 
 have forgotten their plates and gone down the opening 
 with the innkeeper, as he carried his valuables below. 
 When he had finished the work, Peter Burgandine drew 
 up the lantern he had been holding at the end of a rope. 
 The farmer extinguished the candle in it and came over 
 to join the lads at table. He was full of the doings of 
 Sandy Flash and only too glad to share them with his ex- 
 cited audience while they topped off their meal with slabs
 
 THE TRAPS 25 
 
 of wheaten bread dipped in treacle. Dave and Bob were 
 good trenchermen always. Their hearty country appetites 
 soon began to make an impression on the heaped-up 
 platter. 
 
 "They tell a great tale of how he gave the slip to a pair 
 of soldiers, come up from Wilmington for to take him," 
 said Burgandine, spreading his treacle on his slice of 
 bread. "It was last summer, before he'd gone to the hills. 
 I heard Neighbor Passmore speak of it. He ought to 
 know, as it happened right on his farm in West Marl- 
 borough. Sandy Flash was working there one day, mow- 
 ing in a field, after he'd run off the second time from the 
 army. It wasn't far from the tenant house where his 
 mother lives a nice enough old Irish woman she is, too, 
 according to John. The two soldiers knew him from his 
 red hair and they got him covered before he saw them. 
 The sly rascal! He gave up like a suckling lamb, only 
 begging them the favor of bidding a good-by to his old 
 mother and fetching a coat for to cover himself with. 
 They marched him up before 'em to the house. Just as 
 he steps inside he grabs his gun which he always kept 
 handy behind the door. Then he swung on those two 
 white-livered cowards and threatened to blow their brains 
 galley west on the doorstep, as the jack tars have it! 
 They ran! What do you suppose Sandy did?" Bur- 
 gandine chuckled in spite of himself. "He went back to 
 his mowing! That he did." 
 
 "Who's the other fellow the one they talked about in 
 the reward?" Bob's mind had been turning over each de- 
 tail with true Scotch deliberation. He began to devour 
 another great hunk of bread.
 
 26 SANDY FLASH 
 
 "Dougherty, I think it was," said Dave, who always 
 had a knack at recalling names. 
 
 "Yes, that's it, I'd know Mordecai Dougherty the min- 
 ute I set eyes on him. He comes from Nathan Hayes' 
 farm at Doe Run. Seen him there many a time," Peter 
 Burgandine's voice was bitter. "I've often heard of Sandy 
 Flash at Passmore's, but never just happened to come 
 across him face to face. Dougherty's a dangerous scoun- 
 drel, but Flash's got the brains. More's the pity ! " 
 
 A few minutes later the lads finished their meal and 
 with many thanks to the innkeeper and his wife, prepared 
 to take their departure, leaving the farmer from Newlin 
 still engrossed in his recent experience. What had be- 
 come of his horse, he did not know. 
 
 Luck favored the boys, however, for just as they were 
 bidding Burgandine farewell, up drove Jehu Evans, the 
 belated cattleman, in a sledge. 
 
 "In with you, Peter, and we'll drive down the Stras- 
 burg Road!" cried the newcomer. "That horse of yours 
 must be on it somewhere and we'll save the money yet. 
 Going that way, past Edgemont, boys? Want a carry?" 
 
 It was a tight squeeze, for sledges, as they were called, 
 were small in those days to fit the narrow, winding lanes 
 that passed for roads, but soon the two men were in the 
 seat, while the lads caught foothold, one on either runner. 
 Evans clicked to the horse and away they went, Dave and 
 Bob calling their thanks to the landlord on the steps of 
 the inn. It was a jolting, uncertain ride, at best, for them, 
 but the excitement of the morning had roused their spirits 
 and each counted it a merry lark. 
 
 In half an hour they had left the men and were back
 
 THE TRAPS 27 
 
 at the spot where they had dropped their traps on hearing 
 Burgandine's cry for help. It seemed an age had passed, 
 rather than a couple of hours, since that alarm had come 
 to them. Dave was soon bending over the coon trail in 
 the snow. 
 
 "A coon sure does like corn, the Indian maize, just as 
 you said, Bob, and apples, too. They come up close to 
 our house, sometimes, and eat the windfalls. Even climb 
 trees after good ones. They chew up a lot of lizards and 
 bugs, as well. A man once told me they'd kill birds, 
 fledglings, I mean, and eat eggs quick as a wink ; when 
 they could get 'em." 
 
 "I reckon they will. Father says they'll eat fish and 
 frogs. Most all animals fill in on things easier to get, 
 though berries and worms and stuff that they can find 
 most anywhere." 
 
 "Yes, and nuts, don't forget them. Those are the 
 things I always try most to find out. The more a fellow 
 knows of what animals eat, why, the easier it is to trap 'em. 
 Many a time I've walked all day in the woods just to 
 make sure of something that might come in handy later 
 on when pelts were prime. Once I saw a coon eating 
 honey! They like that best of all, when they come on 
 .some old bee tree full of it. You'd never think now " 
 
 "I say, Davey! You surely are a queer one! Snooping 
 round by yourself like any old broody hen, yet you've got 
 a plan to it all the time! " Bob laughed good-naturedly at 
 his chum, then stood up. "Well, let's get to work. I'm 
 dead tired! Let me be the trapper this time. I'll put one 
 right in the middle of the trail here and cover it with 
 leaves. I mean a bit further along where we've not tram-
 
 28 SANDY FLASH 
 
 pled round it. Bet this is a regular coon path like the " 
 "It's a path all right, but you'll never see hair nor hide 
 of coon if you go about it that way," Dave chuckled at 
 the mistake of his husky companion. "You may know 
 horses and be able to ride 'em over fences, but you're a 
 mighty poor sort of woodsman,, Bob, I'd say. A coon's 
 clever as a fox, most, in some ways, stupid as any old 
 hen in others. I used to put traps in their trails and I 
 never caught one like that yet. They always go round 
 it somehow or other. Just like a fellow can hardly ever 
 trick 'em with a deadfall. Watch here." 
 
 Dave lost no time in putting his woodcraft to work. 
 Bob Allyn threw down his heavy bundle of traps to lend a 
 willing hand. Together the boys soon were hard at it, 
 making the coon sets, all thought of the highwayman far 
 from their minds. Getting a line on where the path led 
 down through the forest toward the west bank of Ridley 
 was a simple matter, for the tracks showed up readily 
 enough in the light snow. By good chance, the bushes and 
 trees had not yet begun to shake off their silvery burden 
 and thus pock the ground confusingly as always happens 
 after a snowfall of this kind. 
 
 Dave's next move was to seek out a couple of rotting 
 logs, fair-sized ones, yet such as he and Bob could move 
 handily. This did not call for a very long search, as the 
 woodland had been partially cut over many years before 
 and small logs were to be found lying about in the brush. 
 The boys lugged these logs to the trail and threw them 
 across it at right angles, taking care not to step on the 
 trail itself, but to work from both sides of it. They
 
 THE TRAPS 29 
 
 dropped the logs about twenty yards apart. Then Dave 
 made ready his traps. 
 
 The laa had never seen the improved steel ones of to- 
 day, but those that he did have were workmanlike and 
 handy for all that. Of iron, with crude, though powerful, 
 steel springs, they had been made at the log smithy on 
 the road to Nether Providence, where the blacksmith had 
 hammered them out on the anvil under the direction of a 
 woodsman who had taken an interest in the boy's love of 
 the open. The traps were very good, some of them quite 
 like the best designs of the present in essential parts. 
 Dave was especially proud of an arrangement on a few of 
 them whereby the jaws were able to close upon an ani- 
 mal's leg in two places, thus making it almost impossible 
 for the foot to be gnawed off, as happens so often with ill- 
 made traps. There was also a sort of metal lug on the 
 jaw of some of them which the boy was trying out with a 
 view to prevent this same thing. All in all, the woodsman 
 had done his work well, seconded by the smith, and Dave 
 was fortunate, indeed, to be the owner of a set of traps 
 that were considerably ahead of the rough ones in use 
 about the countryside of Providence and Edgemont at 
 that time. 
 
 A trap, one of medium size, perhaps four or five inches 
 across, was carefully set at the end of the log, lengthways 
 that is, its jaws running in the same direction as the log. 
 The boys then covered the metal lightly with leaves and 
 a sprinkling of snow. One log had rotted away a good 
 deal at the end and here a trap was hidden just within 
 the trunk itself and covered with a handful of rotten,
 
 30 SANDY FLASH 
 
 punky wood dust. The iron chains were also covered with 
 snow after having been fastened securely to the logs or 
 nearby trees. The sets were made in as short a time as 
 it takes to tell it. The boys picked up their other traps 
 and walked through the woodland that grew down to the 
 very edge of the stream on their right. In spite of their 
 delay with Burgandine and Sandy Flash, they were de- 
 termined to carry the trap line up Ridley at least as far 
 as the end of Hunting Hill. That had been their original 
 plan when they had left home early in the morning. As 
 they went along they kept a sharp lookout for signs. It 
 would not do to pass by any likely places for a set. The 
 woods were stark and bare in midwinter bleakness, yet 
 so thick was the forest of chestnut, oak and ash, poplar, 
 beech and maple, that one could not see very far in any 
 direction. Dave led the way, his eyes searching keenly 
 here and there among the trees. By the brookside the 
 leafless alders and dogwood made it hard to see the bank, 
 but the boys were patient and worked their way along 
 carefully. 
 
 "What was the good of throwing those logs across the 
 trail?" asked Bob, after a long pause. "I'd think the 
 traps could have been set just as well in the place where 
 the coon had walked. They'll come back there again, 
 like as not. They often do." 
 
 He had been pondering over this part of the set ever 
 since he had helped Dave carry the logs and lay the 
 traps. Unable to solve the mystery, his painstaking mind 
 would not let the matter drop. The boy wanted to know; 
 the why of everything. 
 
 "Coons are queer things. They're like the Indians
 
 THE TRAPS 31 
 
 father used to see when he was a boy, camping by the 
 Cathcart Rock in Willistown. You know, where the great 
 meadow is. They never walk over a thing if they can go 
 round it. Coons don't, nor redskins either," answered 
 Dave. "They like to find a hollow log, if they can, and 
 crawl into it. Maybe they get worms or grubs there. I 
 don't know. Anyhow, that's what they do. If a coon 
 comes along the trail back yonder, going down to water, 
 he'll go sniffing and snuffing along to the end of the log, to 
 see if it's hollow. We'll catch him sure as you please if he 
 does. The trap in the hollow end is the best, but the others 
 just at the ends are mighty good, too. And mind you, 
 never set crossways to a path or hole or trail. The jaws of 
 the trap don't close fair and square, that way. Set 'em 
 lengthways." Bob cannily stored this information away in 
 his mind for future use. Clearly there was a good deal 
 more to this trapping game than just tramping about in 
 the cold carrying a lot of heavy traps and chains and 
 things. Incidentally, Bob needed some pelts as well as 
 Dave. Pelts meant money. With enough of them, he 
 might be able to save up toward a new saddle. There 
 was another long pause, then Bob spoke again. 
 
 "Say, Davey, how much do you think we'll be able to 
 get for our pelts this year? I guess it all depends on how 
 many we catch and how good they are, doesn't it? Pity 
 we didn't begin regular trapping like this last year." 
 
 "They always want good skins, the men that buy for 
 the towns. Some regular trappers make a fortune, most, 
 selling to 'em but they're lots further back in the woods 
 than we could go, those real trappers. Over at the inn at 
 Newtown Square, they'll buy pelts from us, though. AIL
 
 32 SANDY FLASH 
 
 we can get hold of. I was talking to the landlord there 
 about it, when you were busy with Burgandine. He said 
 he'd gladly take our furs and pay us best he could for the 
 good ones. When I asked what kind fetched the most, 
 he said beaver and otter. But they're hard to find as an 
 eel's foot!" Dave laughed, then spoke more seriously 
 again. "Let's get to work and catch an otter. There must 
 be some of 'em left hereabouts, I'll bet. And we might 
 even get a beaver, if we tried hard enough to find their 
 dam. An otter's the hardest of them all to trap, though. 
 Come on! My! If it wasn't war time, we could make 
 lots of money." The boys moved off in silence. 
 
 Hunting Hill in Edgemont was a good way from home, 
 but Bob had agreed to ride over on his horse from Syca- 
 more Mills now and then during the week days to look 
 at the trap line there, with the understanding that the 
 pelts won be divided equally between him and his chum. 
 Dave's share in the work lay in overseeing the setting of 
 the line and visiting it on weekends when he, too, could 
 be spared from farm chores. 
 
 The lads soon left the coon sets behind, working a short 
 distance down-stream. Then they turned back and ap- 
 proached a sweep in Ridley where the waters swung 
 through a meadow that sloped up to the winter skyline 
 on their left. The trees rose sharply across the clearing, 
 covering to its very top a high cone-shaped hill. The 
 height was nearly an eighth of a mile away. The waters 
 of Ridley, six or seven yards in width, swept round the 
 base of it. That was the goal of their trapping Hunt- 
 ing Hill in Edgemont, known from the days of the Lenni- 
 Lenape Indians as a covert for game. On the summit of
 
 THE TRAPS 33 
 
 the same eminence they had rescued Peter Burgandine 
 that very morning. Neither boy had thought for that 
 now, however. 
 
 Dave had never trapped in this neighborhood before, 
 although he had trudged over the hill on the west bank 
 of Ridley many times and found game signs aplenty. 
 His dark eyes began to glow with that sharp, keen passion 
 of the chase that had come down to him from the mists of 
 the past a heritage of unconquered generations who had 
 stalked and hunted for their livelihood on the hills of far- 
 off Wales. There was nothing moody about him now. 
 Even Bob, familiar as he was with his chum's ways, could 
 not fail to notice the eagerness that began to set the 
 younger lad a-quiver. 
 
 "Bet I find signs before you do, Bob," whispered the 
 excited boy, lowering his voice unconsciously, as though 
 he were stalking. "Bet I do ! I know I will because " 
 
 "Should think you might, seeing you tramped over this 
 way just before the snow. I say, Dave, you're keen as 
 mustard, all right, when it comes to trapping. Puts me in 
 mind of a terrier after a rat! Must be lots of game here; 
 it's wild enough. See all those rabbit tracks criss-cross- 
 ing? And look at that big hawk yonder ! There it goes 
 into the wood!" Bob Allyn pointed ahead to where the 
 brook disappeared in the forest at the foot of Hunting 
 Hill. The great roving bird of prey glided from view, 
 uttering the shrill challenge of its kind the questing call 
 of a hawk. 
 
 Dave did not answer. The boy had suddenly come to 
 a halt, gazing at a patch of briers close at hand. Bob, 
 noting the action, froze stockstill beside him, thinking his
 
 34 SANDY FLASH 
 
 companion had sighted game. Though they had no guns 
 along, the traps being heavy enough as it was, yet it 
 would be fine sport to stalk a bit just for practice, if they 
 came close enough upon anything worth while. 
 
 Following Dave's gaze, the older boy could detect noth- 
 ing. The open meadow lay before them; the little clump 
 of thorns and greenbriers stood bare against the back- 
 ground of snow. Bob waited while Dave ran forward a 
 few steps. Then he followed. 
 
 "I say, Dave! What in the world ails you?" 
 
 "Nothing. Thought that sapling looked sprung, bu 
 there's nothing on it." Dave's voice showed ill-covered 
 disappointment. "This is where I made that rabbit snare 
 I was telling you of, Bob. I saw it'd been sprung as soon 
 as we came out of the Woods and I wanted to see how 
 close you'd come to it before you saw the rabbit." He 
 broke off with a dry laugh. "But there wasn't any rabbit ! 
 He must have touched it and gotten away. Look at the 
 snow all knocked off the bushes? I tried awfully hard to 
 make a good snare, too. Right in a regular rabbit run 
 through these briers. See the tracks everywhere?" He 
 reached up to examine the dangling loop. 
 
 "Oh, well, a fellow can't make a catch every time. 
 Just like breaking a colt. Takes a deal of patience, 
 Davey. Let's set it again and go on," consoled Bob. 
 "That otter and beaver business sounds pretty well worth 
 while to me. I've been thinking it over all along through 
 the woods. If we could get an otter, it'd be better than 
 all the rabbits from Edgemont to Chichester! I'm going 
 to try for one, anyway." He watched Dave as the latter 
 rapidly set the rabbit snare in place.
 
 THE TRAPS 35 
 
 "You're right about the pelts. A rabbit skin isn't 
 worth a fippeny bit for anything I know of," said Dave, 
 "but it takes skill to snare 'em just the same and we can 
 use all the meat we can get. You don't suppose I'd trap 
 at all, do you, if we didn't need the food and the hides?" 
 Dave worked at the trap among the briers. "That's why 
 I wanted to get one in a sapling snare to-day. I've often 
 got 'em that way before. Fresh rabbit is mighty good, 
 when my mother broils it, I can tell you!" 
 
 As he was speaking, the boy bent down the tough, 
 springy young hickory and cleverly fastened its top close 
 to the ground with a couple of forked sticks set so that 
 when one of them was moved at all it released the other 
 and allowed the sapling to spring upright. The noose 
 made fast to the hickory, was a simple affair of thin hair- 
 woven cord amazingly tough, so spread that when the 
 tree sprang, the loop would instantly draw tight about 
 the neck or body of the animal that had caused the sticks 
 to fall and the trap to be sprung. Dave set this cord loop 
 carefully in an opening between the briers. Then he 
 twisted a few thorn sticks so as to block the other open- 
 ings on either side. The working of the rabbit snare was 
 not unlike the well-known figure 4 trap, only instead of 
 a box or deadfall, the moving of the sticks resulted in the 
 freeing of the tree. For bait, Dave stuck a small apple 
 on the trigger stick. He had brought it along in his pocket 
 for this very purpose. As he finished the work and 
 straightened up from the runway, he heard an exclama- 
 tion of surprise from Bob, who had been following the 
 maze of tracks about in the snow, while he had been busy 
 with the apple.
 
 3 6 SANDY FLASH 
 
 "I say! There's been more than cottontails round here, 
 Dave, and not so long ago at that! See here! " Bob was 
 on his knees pointing to a little patch of snow that lay 
 cupped in a hollow between two outcropping rocks. "If 
 that's not the mark of a boot, plain as White Horse Hill 
 on a clear day, I'll miss my guess. What did " 
 
 "It sure is." Dave was crouching, on the instant, low 
 beside his comrade, scanning the unmistakable outline of 
 a heavy heel. "But where's the rest of the trail? There's 
 snow all about." 
 
 "That's just what puzzled me while you were fixing the 
 bait. I saw this was a footmark all right and I knew you 
 couldn't have made it in your moccasins last time you 
 were here. Do you think " 
 
 "Sandy Flash!" Dave leaped to his feet. "He might 
 have" 
 
 "No, couldn't be the highwayman." The older boy's 
 voice was tense with excitement in spite of the calmness 
 he tried to put in it. "He couldn't very well be here and 
 up with Burgandine at the same time. And we were close 
 by just before that, you know. I thought of Sandy Flash 
 first thing till I saw it couldn't be. It might " 
 
 "Where's the rest of the trail? It doesn't seem to lead 
 anywhere " Dave eyed the mark. 
 
 "But there isn't any more to it. That's the puzzle!" 
 Bob swung his arm in a circle. "I say! Not a sign!" 
 
 Dave's answer was to jump to his feet and to look about 
 him with a roving sort of glance that would have delighted 
 the heart of a woodsman in that it quartered the ground 
 systematically for all its quickness. He did not need much 
 backwoods skill to read the story of that footprint, once
 
 THE TRAPS 37 
 
 the beginning of it had been found. Step by step he fol- 
 lowed it up, as the full meaning of the legend unraveled. 
 Bob had failed to trace it, mostly because he had searched 
 too near the lone print rather than casting wide to pick 
 it up further away from the snare. At the edge of the 
 brook the tracks disappeared, but a line of boulder step- 
 ping stones, clean of snow, showed a way across to the 
 wooded bank on the other side. The boy paused, un- 
 certainly. 
 
 "I did have a rabbit in that snare! Sure as can be I 
 did, this very morning!" Dave spoke sharply, his sud- 
 den anger flaring quick, as he took in the signs before 
 him. "Some poaching thief has seen it and robbed my 
 set! Let's follow back again to the snare and see if we 
 can make any more out of it. I'd say it was Sandy Flash 
 in a jiffy, if it weren't we'd seen him at the inn and knew 
 he was with old Peter right after he got away from those 
 men." 
 
 At the end of fifteen minutes little more had been dis- 
 covered. The footmarks here and there among the rocks 
 showed that a man, evidently wearing boots, had come 
 down stream from the direction of Hunting Hill. On near- 
 ing the snare, he must have noticed it, as his tracks in the 
 snow showed that he had come to a halt. Both boys 
 could see that clearly, as the signs were plain at this point. 
 So far the trail had been easy, but it was a good twenty 
 yards nearer the creek than the clump of briers that hid 
 the clever rabbit loop. From the place where he had 
 stopped, the man had used some care in avoiding leaving 
 a trail as he approached the set an easy matter enough, 
 for the ground was littered with stones and boulders
 
 38 SANDY FLASH 
 
 blown free from the dry, powdery snow. He had simply 
 stepped from one to the other until he had reached the 
 sapling, then having removed the rabbit, he must have 
 gone back to his original path near the brook and thence 
 crossed over on the stepping stones placed there at hazard 
 by nature. 
 
 "Somebody's poached my snare all right. It's plain 
 in the snow as if he'd left us a letter telling how he did it! " 
 Dave stopped disconsolately on the bank pushing hunks 
 of snow into the water with his foot. "I just knew there'd 
 be a rabbit in that loop. I counted on him for dinner! 
 It'd be fresh as a daisy, too! If he finds the other sets, 
 the whole trap line'll be done for. Any one low enough 
 to rob" 
 
 "Who do you think it could be, seeing as we've counted 
 Flash out of it? Would any of the fellows from Provi- 
 dence way or Springfield be mean enough to follow you 
 up and " 
 
 Small good it did the angry trappers to guess. The 
 proof was there that the snare had been pilfered, but who 
 was the poacher and how long he had been gone were 
 questions that could not be answered. It was already ap- 
 proaching evening. They had other sets to make before 
 hurrying home to chores and supper, so the boys, in disap- 
 pointment, turned once more toward Hunting Hill. 
 
 Their luck changed quickly for the better once they had 
 entered the denser woodland of the covert. This time it 
 was Bob who first saw tracks worth scanning. Glancing 
 about a rocky slope that rose a score of yards above the 
 brook, he spied a broad trail, wide apart, equidistant, 
 leading upward among the beeches. He was climbing
 
 THE TRAPS 39 
 
 toward it almost before he had time to point it out to 
 Dave. The fever of the woodsman was getting into his 
 blood, too, and spurring him on. There could be no mis- 
 taking that track. Even Bob Allyn, untrained in the 
 ways of the wild, knew that few animals aside from the 
 skunk, dared walk so boldly and unconcerned as went 
 that line of steps up the hillside. The prints of the feet 
 were not very large, almost triangular in shape, with the 
 five toes forming a perfect semicircle. Earthy scratch- 
 ings through the light snow showed where the skunk had 
 sought worms among the roots, but evidently there had 
 been too much frost to keep him very long at work in 
 search of his favorite summer provender. 
 
 Dave spotted the hole first, close by the roots of a huge 
 beech tree. Eagerly he pointed it out to the slower climb- 
 ing lad who was not finding it so easy as his lighter com- 
 panion to scramble up the steep and slippery hill. 
 
 "There's his earth! Knew we'd come on it up here 
 somewheres! Didn't have to go round by Robin Hood's 
 barn to see it, either! We'd have smelled him long ago 
 if it'd been summertime. Look, Bob, he's using this hole 
 all right. See those black hairs stuck on the sides ! That's 
 proof, sure as pudding! They'd be red if a fox had the 
 hole. Whee! We're going to get this old codger quick 
 as a wink!" Dave's excitement was fast mastering him, 
 as Bob came panting up to the earth. "Then there'll be 
 lots of skunk-oil liniment. Mother was saying we needed 
 some mightily about the house. 
 
 "Once father got a big skunk and we made two full 
 quarts of oil from the fat that covered him just under the 
 skin. You never saw the like of it! We ought to have
 
 40 SANDY FLASH 
 
 luck here. A skunk's awfully easy to trap, only they've 
 a way sometimes of gnawing their foot off. A deadfall's 
 really best, for it breaks their backs right away and 
 there's no bother with the scent. Besides, they don't suf- 
 fer any. But we'll put a plain trap here for luck." 
 
 Dave looked at Bob a moment strangely, then reading 
 the thought on the latter's frank face, he said: "Bob, you 
 think I'm mighty cruel, don't you? I can see you do, so 
 you might as well say it. But just remember this. I've 
 never trapped yet except when we really needed the meat 
 or the pelt money at home. And I've never let any ani- 
 mal, big or small, suffer a moment longer than I could help 
 it. Whenever I can, I use a deadfall and I visit the trap 
 lines regularly. Don't forget that, for it's the truth. And 
 it's fair, too." 
 
 "I know all that, Davey. 'Course we have to trap or 
 we'd go cold as well as hungry winters like this. Let's 
 fix it." 
 
 The boys soon had a medium trap, the same kind they 
 had used at the coon set, in place just at the entrance to 
 the hole. The chain was fastened securely at the foot of 
 a tree with as little leeway as possible. Then they cov- 
 ered the whole thing with leaves. Last of all, Dave 
 reached into the earth and stuck his bait on a stick a few 
 inches beyond the trap. It consisted of a bit of meat he 
 had brought along in his pocket. The meat was decidedly 
 prime. As they were sliding and scrambling down the 
 hillside, Bob examined the tracks once more. Not half 
 so quick as David, the older boy, none the less, had a way 
 of making lasting use of whatever he learned. Now he
 
 THE TRAPS 41 
 
 was laying those new tracks away in his mind where they 
 would be well remembered. 
 
 "It's queer how a little animal like a skunk can walk 
 straight as an arrow through the forest wherever it wants 
 to go, not even afraid of a bobcat or a bear," mused Bob. 
 "I say, did you ever know, Dave, that a skunk can blind 
 a fox for good if he sprays him fairly in the eyes? I had 
 a dog nearly ruined that way once. Old Rambler, it was. 
 I guess you remember the time it happened? They say 
 nothing living can close with a skunk, once the " 
 
 "They give you three fair warnings, though, and don't 
 spray you if you don't bother 'em," interrupted Dave, 
 eager to show his own observant woodcraft. "If you ever 
 meet with one, Bob, and he stops and stamps his front 
 foot a couple of times, you'd better go back or round. If 
 he raises his tail, it's almost too late. But if you see the 
 white tip of it straight up in the air and you keep on 
 toward him," Dave laughed, "why, just bury your clothes 
 before coming over Rose Tree way! That's all!" 
 
 The short afternoon was fast wearing on to twilight, as 
 the skunk set was completed, so the lads turned south for 
 home and supper. It had been a day of adventure, a day 
 that Dave and Bob would remember as long as they lived. 
 The boys were tired, dog tired, yet filled with a feeling of 
 satisfaction for work well done. 
 
 "We can get over the creek all right down by the 
 stones. It's shorter." Dave plodded wearily on. "It's 
 lucky they are there when the water's high." 
 
 "Go first. You know the way best," answered Bob, 
 his mind still intent on the new wood lore he had learned.
 
 42 SANDY FLASH 
 
 A hundred yards before them, a man slipped from view 
 behind a mighty chestnut a veritable sire of the forest. 
 As Dave turned down the glade toward the crossing in 
 Ridley, the fellow hissed softly between pursed lips, and 
 motioned with his arm. In answer, a second figure ap- 
 peared for an instant, then dropped back between the 
 cedars that had covered him. The tired lads rounded a 
 bend and drew nearer with never a glance at tree or 
 thicket where the footway passed between them, never the 
 faintest thought of impending ambuscade.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 THE HEARTH RUG 
 
 A I ^HE sudden parting of the bushes was the first inti- 
 JL mation the lads had of the men by the path that, 
 and the sight of a figure springing toward them from the 
 chestnut. Both boys halted in alarm. A moment later a 
 hearty laugh reassured them, as it echoed through the 
 dimming lanes of the forest. One of the men came for- 
 ward into clearer view. 
 
 "Caught you napping that time, the pair of you! Made 
 you jump nigh out your skin, we did!" 
 
 "Father ! I say ! " Bob looked again to make sure, then, 
 joined in the merriment at his own expense. 
 
 "None other ! " sang out John Allyn, so hugely pleased 
 at the success of his little ruse that he failed to note his 
 son's excited face or even catch the purport of his alarm. 
 "None other, 'I say' or no! We just thought, Neighbor 
 Thomas and I, that we'd put in a bit of a Saturday after- 
 noon ourselves in the woods to show we weren't so old or 
 so dead to fun as you lads most likely reckoned we 
 were!" John Allyn laughed again in glee. The whole 
 affair was the sort of lark that the great good-natured 
 farmer loved to take part in on those rare occasions when 
 he could find the time from work. 
 
 "That we did, boys, that we did," volunteered Hugh 
 Thomas, David's father. He was a spare man, wiry like 
 
 43
 
 44 SANDY FLASH 
 
 his son, but with an endurance that never seemed to tire. 
 He stepped closer to see whether his boy still carried a 
 trap at his belt. "All set, are they, right and proper? 
 That's the way to go about it! I'm glad as John Allyn, 
 here, I came along, though it did seem a bit like passing 
 by more needful things at first. A long day you've made 
 of it for a fact!" 
 
 "Oh, father," interrupted Dave, eager to tell of their 
 adventures, "we've had the wildest time you ever heard 
 of. First, we heard a " 
 
 "It was Sandy Flash, the highwayman!" broke in Bob, 
 unable longer to restrain himself. With both lads trying 
 to speak at the same time, a troublesome task their par- 
 ents had to get at the bottom of the Newtown outrage. At 
 last, it was made clear to them and their many questions 
 answered. The older men grew serious at once. Hugh 
 Thomas stood motionless in thought for a moment, then 
 nodded at his companion. 
 
 "It's a bad day for us when Sandy Flash comes riding 
 our end of the country. I've heard tell of his thievery and 
 mischief many a time, John. But we may have seen the 
 last of him, at that. I surely hope so. What a vain 
 jangling they must have made of it at the Square! In- 
 stead of closing with him! That's drinking for you!" 
 He fairly snorted in disgust. 
 
 John Allyn agreed. The man was too interested now 
 in his boy's trapping to pay much heed to the chance of 
 the outlaw coming back. Till he did, at any rate, there 
 was no need of worry. The posse had been quick in pur- 
 suit. Perhaps, even now the blackguard had been seized. 
 Farmer Allyn shrugged his shoulders as though to dis-
 
 THE HEARTH RUG 45 
 
 miss the matter altogether, then glanced toward the 
 warmly glowing west. 
 
 "I reckon we'd best be hastening back, friends. I only 
 wish we'd thought to come to the woods earlier, for I'd 
 like to have seen the sets you made. I've a bit to say 
 about this trapping business. Hugh and I've been talk- 
 ing it over as we walked along. The thing's a piece of 
 useful work we both think well of. Especially, if you 
 two go about it in earnest and really get the pelts. Tell 
 'em what we've decided, Hugh." 
 
 The older Thomas turned down the path toward the 
 stepping stones, speaking over his shoulder, as he 
 moved off. 
 
 "Come on, then. I'll tell you everything after we cross 
 the creek. It'll be dark, as it is, before we're back to Blue 
 Hill lane. Look yonder at the sun, lads. 'Twill be fair 
 as a bell to-morrow. 'Red at night is shepherd's delight.' 
 I can hear your granddaddy saying that now, David. The 
 old gaffer knew weather with the best of 'em." 
 
 The little party swung off in single file, the men lead- 
 ing. Once safely across Ridley, they availed themselves 
 of the more open going to walk abreast. In this manner, 
 they made steady way toward the Providence Road above, 
 while Hugh explained to the boys what they waited to 
 hear. 
 
 "You see, it's this way. The war and the taking of so 
 much food and supplies for our troops has meant that 
 things are not going to be half so easy to get hold of, this 
 winter, as they used to be. Not hereabouts. You boys'll 
 have to do your part in keeping the farms up to the mark. 
 That'll mean harder chores for the pair of you, but the
 
 46 SANDY FLASH 
 
 trapping is apart from that. Before the winter's out, 
 we'll need every last pelt you're likely to get. More, too. 
 If you can show us that there's game about worth taking, 
 'twouldn't surprise me if we older folks joined in the work 
 ourselves a bit, when we've time to spare from the farms. 
 That has to come first always." 
 
 Hugh paused till the others had joined him in scram- 
 bling over the wayside wall of stone. As they dropped 
 down the bank to the road, he went on speaking. 
 
 "Pelts can help us in many ways. We can get the 
 women folks to make 'em up into good snug caps and 
 mufflers and mittens for us all. We can even make a fine 
 coat or two out of the big ones, if you boys prove to be 
 the trappers you ought. Then John, here, has another 
 great thought on it. He says we might let you have as 
 much time as we could possibly spare and that in return 
 for the sport you'd get from it, you two should agree to 
 put the gain toward buying what little you could for the 
 men of the army. They're camping out in the wet and 
 cold over somewheres by the Valley Forge right now. 
 Even pelts and hides would help 'em mightily. I heard 
 that close to ten thousand men were setting up their huts 
 there!" 
 
 The boys fairly shouted in approval. To tell the truth 
 they had been a mite uncertain as to just how far their 
 parents would favor the regular trapping work they had 
 in mind for the winter. In ordinary times it would have 
 been easy to find all the leisure they needed, but with the 
 county in disorder, food of many kinds very scarce, sup- 
 plies hard to get hold of in the little wayside hamlets, 
 each boy knew well that his first duty was at home, work-
 
 THE HEARTH RUG 47 
 
 ing his hardest there to keep up the chores assigned him. 
 
 "Then we can put out another line of traps, can't we, 
 Dave? At Castle Rock, maybe! Oh, I say! You could 
 easily see to one and I could try " 
 
 "Hold steady there, lad! Easy dpes it!" Hugh Thomas 
 broke in, smiling at the boy's enthusiasm. "It's best to 
 do one thing well while you're at it. Now, listen here. 
 This is to be serious work, mind, not play. I want you, 
 David, and John Allyn looks to Bob to go about this 
 rightly or not begin at all. Set one line of traps and set 
 'em well. Arrange between you to have 'em seen to dur- 
 ing the week. Then on Saturdays you both can have all 
 day at it. Every fortnight you can have a whole after- 
 noon for the work in mid-week, turn about with Bob. 
 I'd give every day, to boot, but there's the chores you 
 must help me with and then there's the schooling in the 
 morning. War or no war, any boy of mine must get a 
 bit of that, though a sorry time it is these days to find 
 place or person who's a chance to teach him!" 
 
 Hugh paused, while big John Allyn nodded in confirma- 
 tion. The sound, hard-working farmers of the neighbor- 
 hood, those who had originally settled along the reaches 
 of Darby Creek and in the Old Welsh Barony that ran 
 from Merion in the east far up past Haverford to Tredyf- 
 frin in the Valley, these men had paid great heed for gen- 
 erations to the schooling of their children. When no regu- 
 lar dominie was to be had, as was too often the case, they 
 made out the best way they could themselves, assigning 
 lessons at which their boys and girls could work to profit 
 in the long winter evenings and as often as they could be 
 spared from chores during the busier hours of daylight.
 
 48 SANDY FLASH 
 
 The Quaker children usually attended week-day school 
 of a more or less regular nature in the old Friends' Meet- 
 ing Houses at Haverford, Ithan and elsewhere through 
 the county. 
 
 Books were few, but the Bible was in every homestead, 
 while often a Pilgrim's Progress or even a Paradise Lost 
 served the purpose of reader and speller combined. From 
 such as these, Dave and Bob had learned their letters and 
 to parse. It must be admitted that in mathematics they 
 had not gone so far, although they were founded in the 
 elements of that creditably enough. It had been driven 
 home to them by practical examples of its use in the daily 
 life of the farm and in the village markets where their 
 fathers drove cattle for exchange. 
 
 When Dave's father now said that trapping was for 
 week-ends and then only, both boys knew that he meant 
 it. There was no questioning of his authority or judg- 
 ment. 
 
 "The thing we all must do this winter, boys, is help our- 
 selves as best we can. Soon as ever I saw you two were 
 really earnest about the trapping, I began to turn over in 
 my mind how, if you went about it right, you might bring 
 in quite a bit of game to line our larders. That and the 
 pelts for making some warm and handy things we need 
 would more than offset the time from work. Neighbor 
 Allyn agreed, so out we came to Ridley Woodland, know- 
 ing we'd find you here or up by Pickering Thicket 
 yonder." 
 
 "Easy as rolling off a log," quoth big John Allyn, smil- 
 ing as he recalled the startled look on the lads' faces, when
 
 THE HEARTH RUG 49 
 
 his ambush had been sprung. "Bob, you jumped like a 
 scared woodchuck back there ! Truly, you did ! " 
 
 "They both did," went on Hugh. "We could track you 
 finely, once you left the road. It was the same as follow- 
 ing the slot of a deer like I used to do on the hills of 
 Tredyffrin when I was your age. Many's the time I've 
 hunted 'em over there, visiting the Walkers or the Wil- 
 sons in the Valley. Davie, here, comes by his trapping 
 well, I'll tell you, so you'll have to pick up every trick of 
 it you can, Bob." 
 
 "And remember it's real work, you're doing, son," 
 added John Allyn. "We've got to depend a lot more on 
 our own fields and our own forests than we've been doing 
 of late. To say nothing of our streams. Tell us now 
 what sets you've put out to-day. And how you made 
 'em? With Sandy Flash and poor old Peter, the wonder 
 is to me you've found a chance to lay a one of 'em." 
 
 The boys soon related the story of the rabbit snare that 
 had been sprung. Then they told of the coon sets they 
 had made in the ends of the logs, and Dave described the 
 skunk trap, taking care to give his chum the credit for 
 first noting the tracks. By the time the boys had finished, 
 they had reached the lane that ran from the slope of Blue 
 Hill off toward the hollow of Ridley Valley where Syca- 
 more Mills nestled among the trees to the west. The 
 Allyns, father and son, turned off here, bound for their 
 farm a mile or so away. Dave and Hugh Thomas waved 
 them farewell and kept on toward the Rose Tree corner, 
 where they, too, soon turned aside and entered the long 
 lane that led up to the Thomas homestead. The boys had
 
 50 SANDY FLASH 
 
 agreed before parting that they would meet again the 
 following Monday and see what luck had come to their 
 traps. 
 
 Dave was hungry as a bear after his long tramp and 
 the excitement of the morning, but Mistress Thomas had 
 taken that into account when she had begun to make 
 ready the evening meal. By the time chores were ended 
 and Dave had washed, the iron pots and pans and little 
 skillets were already smoking on the hearth. Hugh 
 Thomas moved the great oaken table nearer the fireplace, 
 lighted a second tallow dip and took his place at the 
 board. Then he nodded to his wife. The woman left the 
 hearth where she had been stooping and took her place be- 
 side her husband, while Dave hastened to his stool. Mr. 
 Thomas bowed his head and spoke a word or two of rever- 
 ent grace as was his custom. Never a meal was eaten in 
 that household without this simple form of offering 
 thanks. 
 
 The supper that followed was a plain one in that nearly 
 everything on the table had been home-grown. None the 
 less it was ample and wholesome, even for the hungry man 
 and boy so ready to fall to upon it. First, came a great 
 pewter platter heaped high with baked potates. They 
 had been done to a turn, snuggled deep in the ashes of the 
 hearth, then dusted clean. Dave and his father had put 
 many an hour of toil and care to the growing of them, but 
 now the bin was full, a goodly winter supply assured, pro- 
 vided it did not fall a prey to some marauding foragers. 
 With the potatoes were juicy slices of home-cured, hick- 
 ory-smoked ham, piping hot. Dave's mouth fairly 
 watered at the smell of it, as the lid was removed from the
 
 THE HEARTH RUG 51 
 
 dish. Last of all, Mistress Thomas knelt by the hearth 
 and pulled from the coals a three-legged iron pan full of 
 cornmeal cakes. This was a special treat, indeed, honor- 
 ing the day's tramp. 
 
 The griddle-cakes had been made from the ground meal 
 of Indian maize, the great grain crop that farmers were 
 already beginning to call corn and grow in quantity. Up 
 until recently, however, they had rather looked down upon 
 it in the county, quite content to purchase small supplies 
 from the Lower Country, as need for it arose. Placing 
 the corn cakes on the table, Dave's mother took from the 
 fireside cupboard a bowl of treacle and a plate of fresh 
 butter, the sweet, unsalted article that her boy loved. 
 True to the Welsh breed in them, Dave and his father, 
 as well, would have none of the salted stuff that many 
 dairymen were in the habit of making so that they could 
 keep it longer, then sell it in the town on market days. 
 For the Thomases there was nothing to take the place of 
 freshly churned, real home-made butter, sweet as any 
 cream. 
 
 The bread, too, that lay in a great golden loaf in front 
 of Mistress Thomas's place, had been made from wheat 
 grown on the farm. Dave well recalled the day he and 
 his father and some kindly neighbors had cradled that 
 wheat, every rod of the great field. Then tied it by hand 
 in even bundles with strands of Indian hemp. That had 
 been Dave's special care. Afterwards, the harvestmen 
 had gathered these bundles and laid them up in cocks, 
 taking heed to keep the rows as straight as a line of tents 
 in army bivouac. Each cock had been cleverly topped 
 and thatched to turn the rain, a masterpiece of farmcraft
 
 52 SANDY FLASH 
 
 in itself. Indeed, the farmers of the neighborhood had 
 long taken an unusual pride in the handiwork of hus- 
 bandry. Last of all had come the garnering of the grain, 
 the piling of the bundles on the sledges to haul them to 
 the threshing floor. Wheeled wagons and wains were still 
 uncommon for the rougher forms of field work. 
 
 Dave enjoyed this threshing of the wheat more than all 
 the yearly routine of the soil. Somehow, the boy sensed 
 the vast tradition of the thing, the vital link between it 
 and the history of the race. It made him think of passages 
 his father used to read each evening from the Bible. He 
 never quite understood what there was that held him so, 
 but the steady swing and thumping of the flails, the scat- 
 tering grain, the flying chaff, when winnowing had begun, 
 all this gripped him strangely, often coming back to his 
 mind in vivid pictures, as he tramped the forest trails for 
 game. It seemed a kind of new miracle to the boy each 
 time he watched the slowly rising waves of gold that 
 meant the bread they ate. Then, later on, it was always 
 sport to take a sack or so of it, as they chanced to need 
 the flour, and ride with them slung behind the saddle of 
 a horse to the grist mill down in Haverford, where his 
 father liked the milling best. As he put it, "The stay of 
 the bread's from the grind of the millstones." 
 
 Dave thought of these things in a dreamy sort of way, 
 as he watched his mother slice the loaf. Then he fell to 
 again on more potatoes and ham, corn cakes and treacle, 
 smooth dabs of melting butter a-plenty. A pewter pitcher 
 of sassafras tea served to fill his mug as often as he 
 wanted it. After all, about the best part of a long day's 
 trudge in the woodland was a glowing hearth at home and
 
 THE HEARTH RUG 53 
 
 a supper like this when the tramp was over. The boy 
 heaved a sigh of pure happiness and pushed back his seat, 
 but dessert was yet to come a further surprise of his 
 mother's. It was a great apple dumpling literally drip- 
 ping in cream! 
 
 "There, my dear," she said proudly, putting it before 
 him on the table, "how will that top off a busy day? 
 Here's yours, Hugh, not one whit smaller, so don't look 
 jealous. There's my own, the little fellow! 'Tis a shame 
 to eat so much in war time, I do declare it." 
 
 "We farming men and trappers must find our forage, 
 rain or clear, eh, David?" laughed Hugh Thomas. "Pon 
 my soul, three dumplings in a row! For all the world 
 like the arms of William Penn. I've seen 'em many a 
 time carved on the mile stones along Old Gulph Road! 
 Fall to, lad, and show your mother what a good Welsh 
 trencherman you are. Old Thomas ap Thomas, my 
 grandfather, could eat more than any man in Merioneth- 
 shire, they do tell of him." 
 
 Dave obeyed with no further urging. As he ate, he re- 
 lated to his mother the events of the day. 
 
 After the supper things had been cleared away, the 
 boy helped the woman with the dishes, then returned to 
 the fireside. This was the hour he loved best. Stretched 
 at full length upon the soft hearth rug, he let his tired 
 body relax, while his mind, always active, turned over, a 
 point at a time, every in and out of woodcraft that he 
 knew. He was going to make good at that whatever hap- 
 pened, just to show his father and John Allyn and his 
 good friend Bob that their confidence in his skill had not 
 been misplaced. As he lay there, gazing at the coals
 
 54 SANDY FLASH 
 
 through half-shut lids, the boy's imagination wandered 
 back into the olden days of the county, the past that was 
 even now becoming a tradition, although Hugh Thomas 
 himself could recall as a boy having seen a few of the 
 pioneers. Those were the days when real trappers were 
 plentiful about these very fields and Dave's interest 
 quickened as he thought of them. 
 
 "Father," the lad spoke suddenly, though in a low 
 voice, as he watched his mother replace a kettle on the 
 notched bar of the hob. "Father, I've often wondered 
 what the old-time Indians used to cook their messes in 
 before the white people came to trade 'em pots and pans 
 and things?" 
 
 Hugh Thomas edged his high-backed chair nearer the 
 corner of the ingleside, then lighted a church-warden pipe 
 of clay. It must have been nearly two feet from bowl to 
 mouthpiece. For a moment he puffed in silence, eyes half 
 closed. 
 
 "Pipes, now, they made of clay, only not in the very 
 least like the one I've got here. Indian pipes are mostly 
 short, son, with a thick tube. I once saw a really fine one 
 belonging to a sachem, I think it was, but it had been 
 carved from pot stone and was red. Cooking stuff, you 
 said? Most all of their kettles were baked from clay 
 with a bit of sand or a dash of quartz thrown in. They 
 got a lot of that right from the North Valley Hills in our 
 own county, I reckon. A few used pot stone, as they 
 called it. Remember once when I was a lad about the 
 size of you now, I wandered far up Crum to the Cath- 
 cart Rocks in Willistown. The great Nawbeek Meadow 
 lies just beyond the ravine there, and that's where the In-
 
 dians used to camp in the olden time. Most every year 
 you'd find 'em there in those days. I watched their 
 women folks busy at the cooking. They had clay pots, but 
 not glazed at all, inside or out. Two little holes were let 
 in the top edge of 'em so's they could run a stick through 
 to hang 'em up. They'd build a wee fire under it, put the 
 hunks of venison or whatnot in and boil it. 
 
 "That great pasture there you ought to see some day, 
 David. You and Bob Allyn would like it. It must have 
 been a camping place for redskins ages by. Even now a 
 body can find all manner of flint knives there. And as 
 many stone arrow heads and hatchets as you'd want. 
 They're grooved and scraped away where they tied the 
 handles on 'em with strings of gut and sinew. No doubt 
 you've seen plenty? Aye, lad, it's a great thing, a kind of 
 holy thing, to me, looking back at the strange peoples who 
 lived their lives right here in our own hills before ever a 
 white man came! What ways they had of living, too!" 
 
 Hugh Thomas took the pipe from his lips and gazed a 
 moment at the logs upon the firedogs. He was seeing 
 again the camp of the Delawares as it had stretched be- 
 fore him many years ago where willowed Crum loops so 
 smoothly through the Nawbeek pastures. He was living 
 once more his own boyhood, working back into the past 
 and making it real to his son as only a Celt can. A log 
 cracked midway and fell from the andirons with a snap- 
 ping of sparks. The man straightened suddenly in his 
 chair. 
 
 "Look, David, at the Quakers flocking to their meet- 
 ing! It must be Old Merion, there's so many!" He 
 nodded at the sparks, then went on, "I'll warrant you're
 
 56 SANDY FLASH 
 
 not clever woodsman enough even now to tell me how 
 the Lenapes made their war canoes in the days when they 
 had no metal? They could do it, all right. None 
 better!" 
 
 "Yes, I can tell you," laughed David, glad to prove his 
 father mistaken. "They burned out big trees till they 
 were hollow. Just like we made our own horse-trough 
 two years ago!" 
 
 "Right enough, so we did. I'd forgotten that. You 
 scored that time! But I mean how did they manage to 
 get the trees down? We chopped ours, but they had no 
 steel axes. I watched 'em at it once. The young braves 
 made a fire of hot coals close about the roots, then others 
 took long poles, saplings, with wet swabs of blanket on 
 the ends. They kept dabbing the upper part of the trunk 
 with the wet stuff so it couldn't catch fire. They brought 
 down the biggest tree they needed that way, where a 
 white man would like have set the woods ablaze." 
 
 Hugh sucked at his pipe a few moments, while Dave 
 snuggled more comfortably on the rug. The fire had 
 sunk to a warm glow of coals and the farmer responded 
 still more to its call. There were few things he loved 
 better than to sit thus for a while with his boy during the 
 long winter evenings, telling him of the older day when 
 men's very lives and that of their loved ones depended on 
 woodcraft and their skill with trap and gun. Hugh 
 Thomas was a plain man, but he sensed unconsciously 
 that any love for the open, any contact with the clean 
 breath of out of doors that he might give to his son would 
 prove in the end as wholesome a part of his education as 
 all else put together. In this view, he was at one with
 
 THE HEARTH RUG 57 
 
 his neighbor, John Allyn. Slowly now he bent over and 
 scooped up a ruddy coal in his palm, just enough ashes 
 about it to prevent a burn. Carefully he brought it to 
 the bowl of the church-warden and relighted the tobacco, 
 then sat back contentedly drawing at the long stem. 
 
 "Davey, you'll never know what a place this was for 
 game, this county of ours between the Schuylkill and the 
 Brandywine and on beyond, far to the pines of Noting- 
 ham and Oxford. It was not so long ago, at that. 'Tis 
 a fact. Why, once I saw myself a flock of wild pigeons 
 roosting in Martin's Hollow. They broke the branches 
 from the trees, believe it or no, but they did. They came 
 to the woods in the cool of the evening with such a racket 
 and a jangling a man could scarcely hear his own voice! 
 In the morning, I went there again with a gun and saw 
 the great boughs that had cracked under their weight. 
 Saw it with my very eyes! Of course, we've still some of 
 them left and the wild turkeys, too. Besides, the small 
 game a-plenty. But the deer are hard to kill these days, 
 I know right well. And bear! I doubt you could see 
 many 'cept in the Welsh Mountain. Up in the Nant- 
 meals, maybe, there might still be one or two. Remem- 
 ber, lad, you'll have to use some skill to trap the worth- 
 while pelts these days." 
 
 Then Hugh Thomas went on to speak of the rough 
 life of the past. How bitter a time the first farmers had 
 when the countryside was partly tilling land and partly 
 forest primeval for the most part neither one nor the 
 other. How that no one in the county bothered then to 
 seed to timothy or clover and how little they used to 
 think of lime and manure for the soil. And how they
 
 5 8 SANDY FLASH 
 
 always grew the same crops year after year wheat, rye, 
 oats and barley, often over and over in the same field 
 with no rotation. Indeed, the man shook his head as he 
 spoke of it, wondering that any yields at all were har- 
 vested in the days when his grandfather drove his ox- 
 team plow so patiently up and down between the field 
 stumps. 
 
 "But how did they ever come to find out the things 
 they can't get along without nowadays?" Dave queried, 
 keen in the details of the farm that meant his father's 
 livelihood. "That's what I can't make out." 
 
 "I hoped you'd ask me that," smiled back the other. 
 "How did you come to use traps like those you showed me 
 yesterday, the ones that had the side lugs on 'em? Your 
 first ones were not like that at all." 
 
 "I know they weren't. I had to change 'em. The 
 plain ones didn't work so well after a bit and I lost a lot 
 of muskrats and one mink, even, got loose from 'em. I 
 knew something was wrong so I kept on trying out dif- 
 ferent fixes and I asked all the folks I knew what they 
 used. That man over in Aston " 
 
 "That's your answer as to why we haul lime from the 
 Valley kilns to-day and why we seed clover with the 
 wheat, when we didn't use to do a bit of it. The land 
 got weaker and weaker till we had to try a few things and 
 ask other folks what they'd tried. It's the same in every- 
 thing, I reckon, son. You've just got to keep on trying 
 'em out and trying again and only using what's best. 
 There's mother stirring. That means bed." 
 
 The quiet evening had slipped by so speedily that
 
 THE HEARTH RUG 59 
 
 neither man nor boy had given thought to the hour, but 
 Mistress Thomas had kept tab on the tallow candle set 
 in its brass stand by the ingle-nook. She always put a 
 light there after supper, then sat by the glow of the 
 hearth busy at a household task till the dip had burned 
 low. When it did, the time had come for bed. To-night 
 she had been interested intensely in her boy's story of 
 the affair at the Pratt House Tavern and his description 
 of the sets he and his chum had made, as well as in the 
 rambling talk of her husband, but she knew that he and 
 David must be worn by their busy day. Accordingly, she 
 arose and put the wooden frame they used for candle dip- 
 ping on its peg in the corner. She had been making 
 ready for the work to begin bright and early Monday 
 morning. The wick strings had been tied to their places 
 and clipped to proper length, while the man and boy were 
 talking. She began, thrifty housewife that she was, to 
 bank the fire, but Dave scrambled up from the rug and 
 took the little iron shovel from her. Soon he had the 
 hearth stone clean and safe for the night, the hot coals 
 blanketed in ashes against the need at breakfast. 
 
 Hugh Thomas knocked the tobacco fragments from his 
 pipe and laid it carefully on the mantel. Then he un- 
 hooked a great brass bed-warmer from its nail in the 
 ingle and filled it with steaming water, refilling the heavy 
 iron kettle on the hob with cold water from another pail. 
 In the days when there were no stoves to heat a room,- 
 no way at all, in fact, save open fires, and when the 
 kitchen was the only place where a fire was usually 
 burning, country folk contrived to keep themselves as
 
 60 SANDY FLASH 
 
 snug as they could wish by such means as this. Dave 
 had no brass warmer, but he lifted from the hearth an 
 earthenware jug full of water that had been warming 
 there all evening. He corked it tightly, then slipped it 
 into the woolen cover his mother had made for it. Put 
 at the foot of his bed, he knew that no night could be 
 too cold for him in his little room upstairs. A final 
 glance at the fire and the windows, a testing of the bar 
 across the door, and the Thomas family were ready for 
 rest. 
 
 It was from evenings such as this that Dave drew 
 much of his passion for the country about him. The 
 lad remembered always the things his father spoke 
 of while the logs burned to embers on the hearth. 
 He had a way of weaving them into living pictures and 
 applying them to the scenes described. Often as he 
 wandered far from home in the Rose Tree neighborhood, 
 his eyes alert for signs of track or trail, he would people 
 the woodland with figures that were real to him. Very 
 real. Blessed with a vivid imagination, he far outrivaled 
 Bob Allyn in getting down to the throbbing heart of 
 the countryside and living as a part of it. This same 
 power of the mind made him a better woodsman, also, 
 than the older boy, for Dave had an uncanny way of 
 thinking himself into the brain of the animal he was 
 after. In short, he was alive all the time. He was 
 awake to the mysterious beauty that gripped him, as 
 he looked out on the roll and swell of the farmland and 
 forest encircling his home. His mind answered uncon- 
 sciously to the thrill of it, nourished, as it was, by his 
 fit, strong body.
 
 THE HEARTH RUG 61 
 
 Dave Thomas was still a boy, but he had worked 
 out a good many problems of his own under the clean 
 urge of outdoor work and play. 
 
 This same joy in everyday life was due in large meas- 
 ure to his father's way of making even the most com- 
 monplace things glow with interest for him. The boy 
 had learned early the priceless secret of keenness, no 
 matter what the thing be that engaged his attention. He 
 liked to play, as he needs must work hard. 
 
 To-night, he took his candle with a sleepy laugh and 
 followed his parents to the floor above. Tired he surely 
 was, from the miles he had tramped that day, but happily 
 tired, his mind in a mellow warmth of content. The 
 rescue of Peter Burgandine, the adventure of Newtown 
 Square, the escape of Sandy Flash, all these had slipped 
 from him. Drowsily Dave sank to slumber, his last 
 thought for the traps by Ridley water.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 THE RIDLEY OTTER 
 
 SUNDAY passed quietly enough for both Dave and 
 his friend Allyn over at Sycamore Mills. Only nec- 
 essary chores were seen to on the farms. The Thomases 
 spent the afternoon at neighbors' in Nether Providence, 
 while Bob and his parents put in most of the day driving 
 by sledge to church at Old St. David's. 
 
 It was a long pull for the team all the way to the 
 Radnor line, as the sledge was far more heavy than the 
 swiftly moving sleighs and cutters of to-day, but the 
 horses were stout beasts with a dash of good old Shire 
 blood to lend them courage. 
 
 Past the ridge of the Providence Road, they glided 
 onward, the chime of bells tinkling merrily in the keen 
 air as the boy tried to point out where the trap line had 
 been set. The bulk of Blue Hill was in the way, how- 
 ever. Down the slope they went at creditable speed, 
 across the Crum by Bartrams Bridge, then up to Snake- 
 house Wood, a great dark pile of forest that seemed to 
 hang above them on the slopes. Swinging to the left, 
 they settled to a steady pull across the Newtown Hill 
 and the Square beyond. Here, as they drew up in front 
 of the Pratt House to water, Bob was able to ask of 
 the posse the afternoon before. Its luck had been, as he 
 knew it must be, poor. Sandy Flash had escaped. The 
 landlord knew nothing further of Burgandine. Indeed, 
 
 62
 
 THE RIDLEY OTTER 63 
 
 he had not seen him or Jehu Evans, either, since the two 
 men had driven off with the boys to look for the runaway 
 horse. 
 
 The church of St. David, patron of Wales, lay in a 
 little hollow of pines and other evergreens not far from 
 Darby Road. It had been built in 1715, and was already 
 looked upon as ancient in the countryside. While they 
 were driving through the church yard after service, John 
 Allyn pointed toward the quaint low tombstones grouped 
 about the door. 
 
 "Many's the Welsh name you'll find yonder in God's 
 Acre, son. No doubt our neighbor Thomas has kith and 
 kin a-plenty amongst 'em. They used to tell how William 
 Penn himself came to preach in the Old Barony once 
 upon a time and not a soul could understand him there 
 because he didn't use the Welsh tongue, but the English! 
 It's a good thing we've gotten over that part of it anyway 
 or else little you'd learn of trapping from Davey." John 
 Allyn chuckled and swung the sledge out past the lich- 
 gate. Then he flicked at the pair with the whip and 
 turned toward Sycamore Mills. 
 
 During the rest of the drive Dave and his father kept 
 up a constant flow of conversation, centered for the 
 most part on horses, for the elder Allyn was as keen a 
 judge of horseflesh as was his boy. Dearly did he relish 
 the joy of a fine team or a clever saddler. They were 
 making plans now for the breaking of the spring colts, 
 as the Allyns had always added largely to their income 
 by breeding one or two of their mares each year. They 
 disposed of the young stock in the town where a good 
 market had awaited them until the war. Bob's mother
 
 64 SANDY FLASH 
 
 took but little part in the talk. To tell the truth, she 
 was more engaged with thoughts of how she best could 
 provide her family with a comfortable living during the 
 winter. It was no slight thing to have supplies so scarce 
 and the country overrun with all sorts of thieving ruffians 
 ready to strip bare the first homestead that should fall 
 within their power. These Tory agents had already 
 worked far more harm than any of the regular troops 
 of the Crown, who were scrupulously honest in paying 
 for whatever they commandeered. Only a fortnight be- 
 fore, some cattle had been seized this way over in Con- 
 cord and driven off with threats. The women of the 
 countryside were uneasy. 
 
 When Bob went to bed on Sunday night, he had the 
 fullest intentions of rising early and getting over to 
 Dave's in time to make a good start for the trap line 
 the next morning. A storm of sleet and snow, however, 
 upset his plans. It would be out of the question to do 
 any useful work with the sets in such weather, so the 
 boy contented himself with putting in a good day by 
 the fireside, stitching at a pair of new names he was 
 helping his father to make. It was mighty hard on 
 the fingers, but he managed to turn out a neat bit of 
 leather work at that, before twilight dimmed the leaded 
 windows and supper smoked on the board. 
 
 Between farm chores and bad weather, neither Bob 
 nor Dave found an opportunity for going up Ridley to- 
 gether until a week had passed from the day they first 
 put out their traps. Bob had looked the line over by 
 himself in mid-week, it is true, galloping there on horse- 
 back, one afternoon when he could be spared from home
 
 THE RIDLEY OTTER 65 
 
 but that was all. Two coons taken in the log sets had 
 been his reward. A proud boy he was when he rode with 
 them into Dave's lane on the way back. The boys 
 arranged at that time to go up the stream on Saturday, 
 regardless of the weather. Meanwhile they counted the 
 days and wondered if ever a week had passed so slowly. 
 Like all things it came to an end at last and the lads 
 set out bright and early in the morning. Their small 
 success had whetted their eagerness for more. 
 
 It was a brilliant winter day, neither too hot nor 
 too cold, but just enough tang in the air to make both 
 boys feel the surge of keen health. They walked fast, 
 swinging along over the crisp snow with the stride that 
 eats distance and does not weary. As they hurried on, 
 a flock of juncos kept pace with them for a field or two, 
 flitting busily about on the bare twigs of the sumacs 
 that lined the wayside walls. Here and there a chickadee, 
 with his quaint, betraying cap of black, swung like a jolly 
 circus tumbler among the berries of the bittersweet. All 
 nature seemed awake, keyed high to the sharp cold beauty 
 of the day. Just past the top of Blue Hill, the boys 
 caught a vivid flame of color as a cardinal flashed to the 
 shelter of a cedar before them. It was all so clean, so 
 full of things to look at and to watch for, so vitally alive, 
 this countryside of theirs, that the boys could scarce 
 restrain their overflowing spirits. 
 
 "They never saw a sign of him then, Sandy Flash, I 
 mean, after he rounded the turn beyond the Square?" 
 Dave it was who spoke. "Look, there's Hunting Hill 
 yonder. Let's cut down to the stream across this field." 
 
 "Not a trace," answered Bob, joining the other beyond
 
 66 SANDY FLASH 
 
 the fence. "After we left the inn and came back to set 
 the rest of the traps, they hunted round everywhere, far 
 over as the Eagle and down toward the Buck, but there 
 were too many marks in the road, they said. Besides, 
 his horse was fresh. I say, hasn't he got a wonder! It'd 
 been resting while he was busy with Burgandine. I told 
 you we stopped at the Pratt last Sunday, didn't I? Father 
 was over to the Square again yesterday, and they think 
 Flash must have gone back to the Valley hills in Cain 
 for good. He's not likely to bother us here any more." 
 
 "Did you learn whether Burgandine got back his horse 
 and the money? I mean did your father hear of it yes- 
 terday?" Dave's mind swung round to the old farmer 
 from Newlin. "He surely was welted, for fair, poor 
 old fellow!" 
 
 "Father says he's all right. That Evans man caught 
 up with Peter's horse near the Street Road, and he rode 
 home in the afternoon. Sandy Flash did get some stuff 
 from a house beyond the Square, though. They hadn't 
 heard of it Sunday, but father got the news yesterday." 
 
 "I didn't know that! Whose, Bob? What'd he get?" 
 Bob paused before replying, collected himself, and leaped 
 across a small stream. The lad was big even for seven- 
 teen, but fit and close knit, hard as nails, from farm 
 chores and riding. Dave landed lightly as a cat beside 
 him and they turned left in the forest. 
 
 "Oh, not much money. It was Thomas Lewis's place 
 below the Pratt House that he robbed. Some silver, it 
 was. Solid, father heard, too. Mugs and things fetched 
 out from Wales in the old days. Lucky, I'd say, he 
 couldn't carry much with him."
 
 THE RIDLEY OTTER 67 
 
 "He'll not be able to do anything with that kind 
 of stuff, will he? Reckon he's gone where he can lay 
 hold on shillings and sovereigns 'stead of old tankards! 
 Pewter, like as not. We've lots of it at home that came 
 from Merioneth in the old country." 
 
 The boys crossed Ridley Creek to the west bank, hop- 
 ping from stone to stone, and reached the meadow south 
 of Hunting Hill. A couple of rabbits swinging high in 
 the sapling snares served to bring their minds back to 
 the work in hand. One had just been caught; the fur 
 was still soft and warm. Dave, forgetful of his wood- 
 craft in his pride of success, ran forward with a cheer 
 and took them from the loops. Putting the frozen one 
 in his bag, he quickly bled the newly killed cottontail 
 from the mouth, propping the teeth open with a bit of 
 stick. Then he cleaned it carefully without removing 
 the fur. His fingers were deft, showing he had done it 
 many a time before. While he was busy, Bob reset the 
 trap snares. Already the older lad had become quite 
 handy in the ways of the wood and longed to put his 
 new-found knowledge to the proof. 
 
 "The more rabbits we catch, the better," Bob finished 
 setting the bait on the trigger stick. "The confounded 
 things are ringing all the young apple trees, and the 
 peaches, too, over in our orchard. Chew the bark right 
 off 'em! A tree can't live without bark, no matter how 
 good's the trunk." 
 
 <k l know. Same at our place. Glad we got this one 
 fresh. We'll have him for lunch. Be pretty good a cold 
 day like this! I'll bet the army's shivering up by Mount- 
 joy Forge!"
 
 68 
 
 The other traps, set the previous Saturday, were visited 
 in turn and Bob pointed out where he had found the 
 two coons on Wednesday afternoon. To-day, the skunk 
 trap, in the hole on the side of the hill, proved a real 
 disappointment. It had been sprung, but no sign ap- 
 peared of an animal having been caught in it. The bit 
 of meat, however, had gone. Dave looked the hole over 
 long and carefully. Then his eye caught a telltale sign. 
 
 "I thought so! Fox! Vixen, like as not. It smelled 
 that rotten meat, before any skunk came along, and it 
 got it off the stick some way or other, keeping clear 
 of the trap the while. I bet she set it off on purpose, 
 too! They're that crafty and clever." The lad stood 
 up, holding in his hand a long reddish-brown hair tipped 
 with white. He had picked it from the side of the earth. 
 "That's fox's brush, sure as Judgment!" 
 
 "Well, we don't want to trap it, then!" Bob's jaws 
 set ominously. His tone showed very decided views on 
 that point. "I'm right glad we didn't get it. Hope he's 
 slick enough to stay out of every set we make! It's a 
 shame to trap a fox in a country like this where most 
 all farmers have a lot of sport in winter hunting 'em 
 with hounds. It's not fair and I won't be any party 
 to it!" 
 
 "Never fear." David had to laugh at the real anger 
 beginning to boil up in his usually calm and deliberate 
 chum. "Don't worry, Bob, you old hunting squire! 
 We'll not try to trap or shoot 'em hereabouts. Couldn't 
 catch 'em this way in the first place, 'cept by luck. 
 Father tells me never to try it, so you can rest easy. 
 You're right, though. It's different altogether in other
 
 THE RIDLEY OTTER 69 
 
 parts of the country where they can't ride to hounds 
 and hunt 'em properly in a chase. There they have to 
 shoot foxes and trap 'em to keep 'em down. But here 
 with all the hounds there are about the townships, 
 why" 
 
 "Yes, I see that," Bob was still doubtful, "but we've 
 got to be mighty careful. I wouldn't ruin neighbors' 
 sport for anything. I say, let's get an otter or a beaver. 
 That's something worth while. We mustn't forget we're 
 after what'll help the folks at home and the men across 
 the Valley by Tredyffrin. They're freezing as it is." 
 
 "I know it and I'm with you, Bob. That's why we're 
 both here. Let's set this skunk trap first, same as before, 
 only without any bait. It might catch one of 'em coming 
 in and it won't bring any foxes here. I'm sure this is 
 a skunk's hole." Dave replaced the trap in the opening 
 and covered it once more with pebble-weighted leaves. 
 Then the boys slid down the bank and worked their way 
 upstream, on watch for any sign that might betray the 
 presence of an otter. 
 
 A muskrat colony offered them a tempting trapping 
 place, however, before they had gone very far. It was 
 too good to pass by, so they stopped to look it over. A 
 small natural pond had been formed in a clearing by 
 a collection of logs wedged against the boulders. Once, 
 perhaps, the beavers had laid its foundations, but the 
 tracks about the snowy banks were unmistakable. They 
 were very distinct, the hind feet about two inches in 
 length, the front ones much smaller. Both boys recog- 
 nized them at a glance. The prints wove serpentine pat- 
 terns here and there and everywhere. Between the foot-
 
 70 SANDY FLASH 
 
 marks could be seen the light, wavering trace that told of 
 the tail, scaly, hairless, flattened, carried on its edge. 
 The muskrats use this to steer by when swimming, as 
 both lads knew. 
 
 In the midst of the pond, where a few frozen cat-tails 
 rose stiffly, a sorry reminder of summer's glory, were 
 the muskrat houses themselves, great beehive affairs, 
 from four to six feet in diameter. No external open- 
 ings were visible, but Bob Allyn and Dave knew that 
 none were needed. The younger boy had learned the 
 summer before, and since explained to his friend that 
 these strange nests were entered from beneath the water, 
 and that they were practically frost proof in the bitterest 
 cold of winter. How air penetrated their closely-woven 
 sticks and reed and mud neither lad knew. 
 
 Dave had also told Bob that the muskrats seemed 
 to be divided, as though split by some family feud. Many 
 of them, the builders, he had found in houses like those 
 before them in the pond. Others, which he called bankers, 
 seemed to delight in a hermit's life off by themselves, 
 making their lonely homes by burrowing up into some 
 steep bank from beneath the water's edge. The bankers, 
 especially, made slides in the mud. When much younger, 
 Dave had once mistaken these commonplace slides for 
 the sort made by otter. Now, however, he knew better. 
 
 "This is the best place we've come to yet! Look, 
 Bob!" Dave pointed at the tracks. "Aren't they just 
 like a pear with the toe marks circling round in front? 
 The hind feet do most the swimming, that's why they're 
 biggest, I guess. We'll set a lot of traps here. You can 
 never get 'em in a deadfall or snare. A three or four-
 
 THE RIDLEY OTTER 71 
 
 inch spring is what they need. Look at that! They've 
 been washing some yellow lily roots in the water. They 
 always wash what they eat like that, then brush the rest 
 into the stream. Wash it two or three times. I've seen 
 'em. Cleanest things alive!" 
 
 The boys noted with delight all that promised so well 
 for them. The water of the pond had not frozen over 
 entirely on their side and it was here that the tracks were 
 most numerous and the signs of lily roots abundant. 
 They looked like sad enough fodder, for a fact, but the 
 animals must have dug them up from the unfrozen mud 
 far below the surface and found something of nourishment 
 still in them. Indeed, in winter, when they cannot get 
 watercress, they will eat any roots. Dave and Bob were 
 soon making the sets and using the best woodcraft they 
 were capable of, while at it, as muskrat pelts would fill a 
 needed want in both their homes. Dave made the first 
 set, placing his trap in the shallow water back of the 
 roots of a great buttonwood that rose from the pond's 
 border. He fastened the chain to a pole and then propped 
 it far out. 
 
 "That's so's to drown him right away, before he can 
 chew his foot off," he explained to Bob. "Soon as ever 
 he's caught, he'll swim to deep water and the trap will 
 hold him down. It saves him suffering and it keeps him 
 from getting free both. See? The stick makes the 
 chain hang over the deep part." Dave took an apple 
 from his pocket, halved it, tossed a piece to Bob, then 
 fixed his portion on a stick above the trap where the 
 water was about three inches. 
 
 Bob put his trap on a log that jutted several feet into
 
 72 SANDY FLASH 
 
 the pond where the stream showed the stillness of depth. 
 He fastened the chain to the extreme end. Then he 
 made ready to lay the half apple on the log for bait. 
 
 "Try this." Dave dug down into his pocket again 
 and pulled out a small parsnip. "It's what they like best 
 of all. This and muskrat meat, itself. Doubt if you 
 catch anything, though, with the trap stuck up on a log 
 like a sore thumb. In the spring, when water is really 
 high and the spate has flooded 'em out from the banks, 
 then they'll climb on logs and things. That's the time 
 to get 'em that way. I once got four, though, by hanging 
 the traps a wee mite under the water, round the end 
 of a hunk of log that I had anchored in a deep place 
 with a lot of stuff they liked on top of it. Regular supper 
 party for 'em! They " 
 
 "What do they like most, 'side from roots?" asked 
 Bob, still interested in the tracks. 
 
 "Oh, most any greens. Parsnips, best of all, I reckon, 
 and apples. They'll ruin a garden, quick as a witch, if 
 they've half a chance to get at it. Chew up all the carrots 
 and turnips you've got. A good way from water, too. 
 Let's put a couple of traps over the end of the log, just 
 for luck, with the apple and a parsnip hanging so's they 
 can see 'em and climb up to get 'em." 
 
 This was done and Dave led the way further upstream. 
 The lad was in his element. Every bit of woodcraft 
 shown to his friend meant infinite satisfaction to him. 
 He had been the butt of many a joke among his fellows 
 for wasting his days tramping about in the woods alone. 
 Now was his justification. Now was he able to prove to 
 the other that his time had been well spent, after all.
 
 THE RIDLEY OTTER 73 
 
 Dave was leader to-day, Bob the pupil. And he was an 
 apt and eager one, at that. Bob it was who first caught 
 sight of the muskrat slide half a mile above the pond, 
 where a high mud bank compelled them to crawl with 
 considerable care along the edge of the brook. The hole, 
 visible a little way under water, where the current was 
 too swift for ice, gave them the clue. A trap was set 
 at the entrance to it and staked far out over deep water 
 as before. Another trap was set at the foot of the slide. 
 The boys used parsnips for bait at a third trap, dangling 
 them just above the place where it lay on the bottom a 
 couple of inches below the surface. They hid their last 
 traps right in the middle of a muskrat trail that showed, 
 deep cut, along the bank. 
 
 "That ought to answer for a few of 'em, builders and 
 bankers, both." Dave pushed the parsnip bait securely 
 in place. "The great thing with the rats, Bob, is to 
 have the chain well out over deep water. Sometimes I 
 just tie the trap to a long stick, not fastened to the bank 
 at all, and let it go at that. They swim out and dive 
 and then the trap holds 'em under, like I said. Some 
 people even weight their trap a bit, but I never do. 
 Father thinks I ought to. The thing's not to let 'em 
 suffer any longer than we can help and that's the way 
 to do it." 
 
 "Why are the chains so long? I'd think they'd stand 
 a lot more chance of getting away like that than if you 
 made 'em short." 
 
 "It's just the opposite. The longer, the better. If 
 the chain's too short, it gives 'em something to pull 
 against and they'll get away, nine out of ten. Anything
 
 74 SANDY FLASH 
 
 will. If the chain's long, with lots of leeway, and if it's 
 fast to something that'll bend a bit and give, why, they 
 can't get the steady pull they need to break away. They 
 can't get their foot loose. I like water sets best, though, 
 because you can always fix 'em so's to swing into deep 
 water and that's the end of it. 
 
 "How about dinner? We've got most the sets made." 
 
 Dave Thomas was not cruel. He trapped because he 
 knew the pelts were needed and the money, too. He 
 trapped as humanely as possible with the material at 
 hand. He did not relish the thought of being told any 
 of these things by the bigger boy. However, he had no 
 need of worry. Bob was as hungry as he. A day like 
 this in the open would make any ore ravenous. 
 
 A few moments later and they had a fire going, flint 
 and steel serving them for a light. The rabbit was 
 skinned, cut up, and broiled as steak over the glowing 
 coals. The boys were old hands at this job, both of them, 
 and no time was wasted. Bob Ailyn sat back against 
 a great beech tree, enjoying the heat that radiated from 
 the small fire. It was just enough to warm his mocca- 
 sined feet without danger of cracking the soft leather. 
 Dave was cook and worked away at his steak till it was 
 done to a turn. 
 
 "I reckon there's different kinds of trapping for most 
 everything, isn't there?" said Bob, at last, nibbling at a 
 hot and juicy morsel held in his fingers. "How many 
 kinds do you know, Dave? I say, did you ever count 
 'em?" 
 
 "Never did, Bob." Dave cleverly skewered a fresh 
 piece of meat on a stick and went on with his broiling.
 
 THE RIDLEY OTTER 75 
 
 "There're traps and traps and still more traps. And 
 ways to use 'em without end. It depends on what you're 
 after. I divide 'em into three main lots, myself, but 
 there're more, like as not. I always think of the ones 
 that crawl and climb trees; skunks and coons, all those, 
 you know. Then there're the water ones, the beavers 
 and otters and mink and muskrats and the like of that. 
 Last of all, there's the game that runs, deer and the big 
 ones. Foxes and catamounts and bobcats come in a class 
 by themselves, I reckon. They're " 
 
 "Never thought of splitting 'em up that way. Makes 
 it easy to keep 'em clear, doesn't it?" interrupted Bob. 
 "I say, climbers, swimmers, runners! That's fine!" 
 
 "It's why I do it." Dave's mouth was fuller than it 
 should have been, but Bob contrived to understand him 
 in spite of it. "The climbers, they want deadfalls or 
 traps, just like we've got out for 'em now. The runners 
 want snares. The swimmers, they have to have traps. 
 What's too weak for an otter or a beaver is too strong 
 for a mink or a muskrat and that's what makes it all 
 so hard. A trap'll cut the leg clean off one thing and 
 not hold another. I reckon trapping's as clever a game 
 as your horse schooling, most, and a deal harder to learn!" 
 Dave's teeth picked hungrily at a bit of meat stuck on 
 the end of his rude wooden spit. Then the boy laughed. 
 He knew Bob Allyn was beginning to appreciate the 
 woods, as he had hoped he would. 
 
 "That's a fact, Dave, it is real work to master, but 
 I'll show you a thing or two about horses that'll surprise 
 you one of these days when the ground clears off a bit. 
 Turn about's fair play. There's plenty to learn in one
 
 ?6 SANDY FLASH 
 
 same as t'other. The bread's in the bag there by the 
 stump. Help yourself, and sling it over. Thanks!" 
 
 "What don't you understand now about trapping, 
 Bob?" Dave settled himself by the fire, having tossed 
 over the loaf. 
 
 "A whole lot, Dave, but I'll get it in time. The hard- 
 est part, I reckon, is knowing what to use as bait for 
 each thing. That and the scent I've heard tell of. It 
 all seems different. How can a fellow keep 'em straight?" 
 
 "Yes, that is hard. There's lots and lots of stuff I've 
 tried anise-seed oil and oil of peppermint for scents. 
 They smell like all get out! Animals can sniff 'em a 
 long way off, that kind of mess, and follow it up to see 
 what's there. All that stuff is good for a trail when 
 you're after fisher black cat, I mean. But I doubt if 
 any of 'em are left round here now. Then a fine thing 
 for bait is real animal scent. That'll fool most all of 
 J em. Chicken droppings, I reckon, about tops the lot, 
 but I've used bad meat already, like we put in the skunk's 
 hole back yonder." 
 
 "Fine when foxes don't come and eat it 'stead of 
 skunks," laughed Bob. 
 
 "A man once told me, the one who helped make the 
 traps over at Providence forge, that he'd used manure 
 from a sheep pen and caught more with that than any 
 other thing. They all have their special ways, every 
 trapper has. He laid trails with it up to where his traps 
 were hidden, and he buried traps in it, and he even rubbed 
 it on 'em and on his shoes and gloves when he was 
 working at the sets. It's fine. But we've no sheep now." 
 
 "Why not try it then next time? We have a nice
 
 THE RIDLEY OTTER 77 
 
 flock. Might as well work these things out, Dave, and 
 see for ourselves which really is the best. I say, suppose 
 I bring some over next week? We can give it a fair 
 trial, anyway." 
 
 "It's the only way to learn try 'em out, like you 
 say." Dave began to cover the fire with handfuls of 
 snow. "Once I went away and left a wee bit of a fire 
 going. It very nearly took all our woodlot on the hill 
 by the time some rain came and put it out. I learned 
 a thing or two that time that I haven't forgotten yet! 
 Father saw to that." He heaped on more snow. 
 
 "It's a mighty good habit to get into, Dave, even in 
 winter." Bob picked up a stick, red hot at one end, 
 and twisted it round and round on the ground until he 
 had extinguished the fire amid a spluttering of sparks. 
 "The trouble of the fires in the woods all comes to us, 
 from the old Indians, the Lenapes, like Indian Hannah 
 up at Newlin's rock in Bradford. My father says that 
 when he was a boy and first came into the Rose Tree 
 country, the woods used to be burnt over every year 
 or so by the Delawares. They even burned the Valley 
 Hills clear of brush so they could see to chase the deer 
 better when they'd gotten 'em to running along the ridges. 
 Then they burned over the low places so's they could 
 plant their corn there and their little patches of tobacco. 
 It wasn't anything like so thick in the woods then as 
 now, father says, but the trees they did have in 'em. 
 were lots bigger and finer. In the very early days when 
 the Swedes were at Upland, a man could drive a wheeled 
 cart straight through the forest!" 
 
 "The white people copied the burning," broke in Dave,,
 
 78 SANDY FLASH 
 
 "but we didn't use any sense about it. Now it seems 
 like we burn the best woods we have and have to chop 
 scrubby stuff for the timber we want! They had a ter- 
 rible fire, that way, down in Bethel, only last spring." 
 
 "This's out anyway." Bob poked the sodden remains 
 of the fire. "It can't cause harm now. I've got one 
 more rabbit bone to pick, Dave, and I'm through. How 
 about the traps themselves? You once said the best 
 men put kill-scent on 'em. We didn't do a thing to ours." 
 
 "Oh, everybody thinks something different about that, 
 but for what we're after I don't reckon any's needed. 
 Water sets don't have to be treated, 'cause it's no use 
 under water, naturally. Coons and skunks I've often 
 gotten with plain traps so I just never bother doing any- 
 thing at all to 'em. There're lots of ways of fixing 'em, 
 though." 
 
 "That's what I mean. What's the best thing to put 
 on a trap, if a fellow is out after some animal crafty 
 enough to need it?" 
 
 "Rusty traps are good as any that I know of. Don't 
 cost anything either, not even trouble," replied Dave. 
 "Just let 'em hang out in all winds and weather till you're 
 ready to use 'em. The only bother is that you do have 
 to mind the spring getting a bit too rusty and the jaws 
 sticking fast or moving too slow. It's a fine trick, some- 
 times, to bury traps and chains and all in the chicken 
 yard. That kills the man scent and the iron smell both. 
 I once tried smearing a trap with wax and tallow from 
 a penny dip, because I'd heard it was fine, but it didn't 
 work so wonderfully well for me. Guess I didn't do it 
 right, 'cause they say it's a pretty fair way to treat 'em.
 
 THE RIDLEY OTTER 79 
 
 You've got to be careful to cover the whole thing, if 
 you're going to do it at all." 
 
 "How about us? Can't they smell us folks on the traps, 
 the land sets, when we've gone and picked the traps up 
 and lugged 'em about and set 'em?" queried Bob. 
 
 "That's the hard part, really." Dave knocked the 
 damp snow from his moccasins preparatory to moving 
 on. "A fellow ought to have a special outfit, I expect, 
 if he's trapping real suspicious things like bobcats and 
 so on. I wish I could get hold of a pair of buckskin 
 gloves tanned in smoke. They're great! I'll have to try 
 to make me a pair this winter some time. They can 
 be buried, too, in the barnyard, like the traps. That 
 helps. The best of all, the very thing we ought to have, 
 are gloves from a deerskin not tanned at all. If I ever 
 shoot a buck, that's what I'm going to get from it! My 
 father says I'll never kill a point stag in all the county, 
 but we'll have to show him he's wrong, I reckon." 
 
 "Yes, and we'll do it, too," laughed Bob, "if ever we 
 find the deer. There're lots I've seen on the hills, but 
 too wild to get near 'em. Oh, well, smoked gauntlets 
 would do us for a while. We're after beaver and otter, 
 first, you know. They're water sets." The boy's canny 
 Scotch mind never allowed vague possibilities to turn 
 him from the work at hand. 
 
 "Yes, and we'd better be getting down to the stream 
 now, I'm thinking, if we're ever to find that likely place 
 I told you of. If we did want deerskin and couldn't get 
 it, they say calfskin's nearly as good. Untanned, with 
 the hair side out. We could easily get that whenever 
 we wanted it, and make gloves or mittens out of it, too.
 
 So SANDY FLASH 
 
 And big pads for the knees. You have to have 'em for 
 when you kneel fixing the sets. We're right in having 
 moccasins on now, though you would like to have come 
 in spurs like a hunting squire, I'll bet." Dave grinned 
 good-naturedly at his chum. "A heel mark'll ruin chances 
 quick as a wink. That, and smoking. But we don't 
 either of us have to bother about that. I'd rather have 
 good wind than smoke any day." 
 
 The boys reached the bank and turned up Ridley, seek- 
 ing the place where Dave had had the good luck of 
 coming upon otter the previous summer. He had been 
 working his way along the stream, north of the Strasburg 
 Road, far up near Dutton's Mill, when he had heard 
 faint splashings at a distance like stones falling into 
 water. Creeping closer, he had spied a family of otter 
 at play. It was truly a remarkable sight. One after 
 the other, the sleek-coated, glistening creatures had 
 climbed the steep bank by a well-beaten path. Then 
 they had moved to the top of the slide in a series of 
 awkward leaps their characteristic gait. The boy had 
 watched them long, scarcely daring to breathe, while they 
 slid. It fascinated him as nothing had ever done before. 
 
 Again and again they had climbed from the stream 
 and coasted, flat on their bellies, down the smooth mud 
 furrow with a splash to the water below. The slide was 
 eight or ten inches wide and as high as the bank. It 
 led into the deepest part of the pool. As each otter 
 slipped downward with the speed of lightning, front legs 
 pressed closed back to its side, the slot became wetter 
 and more slippery. An involuntary movement on Dave's 
 part had ended the play and sent the startled animals
 
 THE RIDLEY OTTER 81 
 
 diving from sight beneath the surface. He had searched 
 the place and found the hole, however, about a foot wide, 
 in the bank. The other entrance was, he knew, some- 
 where under water. Probably deep behind the roots of 
 an ancient chestnut tree where the stream had swung in- 
 ward and hollowed out the shore line. Five-toed tracks 
 had printed the mud all about and a half-eaten catfish 
 on the grass had told the boy what the otters were dining 
 on. He had laid the whole story away in his mind for 
 use in the winter. This was one of Dave's treasure troves 
 of memory and he guarded it well. Now he and Bob 
 were nearing the spot and both lads' excitement rose 
 proportionately. This was to be the real test. This 
 would prove their claim to the brotherhood of trappers, 
 the clan of the woodsmen. Their tramp of many miles 
 through forest and field, bog and thicket was forgotten. 
 
 The stream just below the pool turned from its course 
 in an ox-bow bend. Dave, already clever woodsman 
 enough to remember this, left the bank and cut across 
 through the brush. By so doing he unexpectedly stumbled 
 upon another important bit of otter history, for quite 
 by accident he noticed the unmistakable leaping tracks 
 of that animal in the snow before him. Clearly, otters, 
 too, knew the value of short cuts and used them. Eagerly 
 Dave followed the marks, Bob close behind him. The 
 awkward tracks ended at the pool, now partially open, 
 partially frozen. Both lads shouted with glee, forgetful 
 of all save the fact that otters were still here if they 
 themselves were true trappers enough to catch them. 
 
 It did not take them long to get everything ready. 
 They made the set with a toothed trap of good size. It
 
 82 SANDY FLASH 
 
 was their only large one. They put it just in the middle 
 of the slide which was visible for all the ice and snow. 
 Dave laid the trap carefully there, about six inches under 
 water and covered it with a handful of wet leaves, too 
 heavy to wash off. Bob meanwhile cut a stick, eight or 
 ten feet long, and fastened the four-foot chain to it. 
 This pole he made secure to the bank, the other end ex- 
 tending out over the deep water. It was the same arrange- 
 ment Dave had used for muskrats, only larger. The 
 younger boy watched it all with approval. His chum was 
 coming on famously in wild lore. 
 
 "That's fine, Bob! If it thaws a bit and they begin 
 to use the slide, we'll get one sure as preaching. Wish 
 we could find a beaver dam, though. It's easy to get an 
 otter there, sometimes, just at the foot of the spillway, 
 so they say. Queer we never saw beaver signs before 
 we got this far along." 
 
 "Yes, I was sure we would have." 
 
 While Bob made fast the long pole, Dave turned his 
 attention toward exploring the bank, unable to forego 
 the chance of gaining some new trick of the wood while 
 he had an opportunity for it. Suddenly he called out 
 excitedly, so strange in tone that the other boy sprang up. 
 
 "Here, Bob! Quick! I've found a track big as a 
 bear! And another Oh, I say " The boy, in his 
 excitement, lost his balance and slipped down the snow, 
 barely saving himself a ducking in frigid Ridley. An 
 instant later he had climbed again to the hole. Bob 
 joined him there and together they studied the prints. 
 They were otter, by all odds the largest they had ever 
 seen. But it was not the animal tracks alone which
 
 THE RIDLEY OTTER 83 
 
 brought them to their knees, studying the marks in per- 
 plexity. 
 
 "It's the biggest otter trail I ever heard tell of, Bob!' 
 But " Dave pointed toward a bootprint on the bank 
 close by. "But somebody's after him already! We're 
 too late!" The lad's voice quivered and almost shook 
 with the bitterness of his disappointment. He had 
 counted on this far more deeply than he realized. 
 
 "Yes, and he's gone and put his own trap in the hole, 
 itself, for certain sure! Oh, I say!" 
 
 Bob Allyn broke off unexpectedly and reached into 
 the opening as far as his arm would go. He did so, 
 gingerly, fearful of a crushed finger or a broken hand. 
 Dave could scarcely keep his eyes from the splendid 
 five-toed tracks beside him. They told of a king among 
 otters and he knew it. For the first time, he felt hope- 
 ful of winning the most difficult creature of the woodland. 
 
 "Can you feel it? Where's the chain?" Dave's eyes 
 flitted here and there about the earth's mouth. "By 
 crickets, we may get an otter yet, Bob, and fool 'em all!" 
 
 "Don't know, Dave, but look what I have gotten T 
 What do you make of that!" 
 
 The boy had pulled his arm out quickly and now sat 
 back on his hunkers. He held in his hand a small silver 
 mug of antique fashioning, somewhat dirty from the dry 
 earth of the hole, but still polished and twinkling in the 
 afternoon light as he turned it about. On the one side 
 were initials. Both lads cried out instinctively as they 
 read the letters together an old-fashioned T, followed 
 by an L. 
 
 "What the where how " Dave's voice failed him.
 
 84 SANDY FLASH 
 
 Bob seemed cool, although he was fighting hard to keep 
 under his own excitement. 
 
 "Don't you see! I reached in to feel for a trap, and " 
 "It's do you think could it be Thomas Lewis's " 
 "Whose else! It must be his! And it's not been in 
 the damp long, either!" Bob struck the cup on his knee, 
 knocking out the earth. "Oh, I say, can't you under- 
 stand? Can't we've gone and tracked the biggest otter 
 of 'em all, Davey, lad, but this is bigger still. It's Sandy 
 Flash himself!"
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 BOB'S hand shook a little as he held the silver 
 tankard. Vainly he strove to appear unconcerned, 
 but the importance of the find was too much even for 
 his steady nature. Dave, equally tense, collected his 
 wits first. This was the sort of thing that his woodland 
 training had helped develop in him this facing of sud- 
 den crises that called for action on the moment. The 
 lad's Welsh brain was keen and quick. 
 
 "Bob, we've got to find out where he is! He's still 
 close by. He must be! Let's try to trail him to his 
 hiding place. And get the men together ! " 
 
 "Easy to say, hard to do! " This laconically from Bob, 
 who had been getting himself in hand, too. "Sandy Flash 
 has been here. He's come along the creek after robbing 
 Thomas Lewis's and he's seen this hole and pushed the 
 silver cup in it. He must have planned " 
 
 "Maybe there's more here! He made off with quite 
 a bit, you said." The younger boy jammed his arm into 
 the otter opening, but nothing further was found. 
 
 Bob Allyn and Dave wasted little time in vainly 
 searching further, but their haste in leaving the pond of 
 the otters proved fruitless. They tracked the highway- 
 man's bootprints for a little way, then, as on a previous 
 occasion, the marks disappeared among a tumbled pile 
 of rocks and boulders that pushed through the snow
 
 86 SANDY FLASH 
 
 along the brookside. Bob, the fox hunter, cast about in 
 a wide circle, hoping to strike the trail further on, but 
 not so much as a single track rewarded him. Sandy 
 Flash had no intention of being followed and, as a matter 
 of fact, had taken a great deal of care to leap from rock 
 to rock, as he left the neighborhood of his treasure. After 
 an hour spent in working along both sides of Ridley, the 
 boys finally gave it up. And wisely. Already the after- 
 noon was growing late and they had a long walk home. 
 
 Putting the cup in the bag with the frozen rabbit from 
 the snare, they turned south. An hour later they had 
 climbed to the higher ground of the ridge where Provi- 
 dence Road offered fair going. At the lane near Blue 
 Hill, they parted; Dave to hurry on to his house with 
 the story of Thomas Lewis's silver, Bob Allyn to follow 
 the narrower way downhill, eager to reach Sycamore 
 Mills in time for supper. Before they said good-by, how- 
 ever, it had been agreed between them that they would 
 get in touch the next day and join the men in further 
 search, if a posse of farmers should decide to go out once 
 more in an attempt to run down Sandy Flash. Neither 
 lad realized at the time that it was Saturday afternoon. 
 
 As a matter of fact, nothing was done on Sunday be- 
 yond a vain search for the rest of the silver up and down 
 the Ridley Woodlands. None of the neighboring farm- 
 ers of Providence felt it worth his while to take up the 
 wild-goose chase that had failed so signally the week 
 before when supported, as it was then, by a red-hot trail. 
 Dave saw no more of his chum until the end of the week, 
 when, chores attended to, Bob rode over bright and early, 
 merrily calling outside the Thomases' windows:
 
 THE STAG OF HUNTING HILL 87 
 
 "Hey, there! I say, Dave! Oh, Dave! How about 
 riding over to the traps this morning? We can get there 
 lots quicker than walking and easily see to the sets. Did 
 we have luck last Thursday? You got over, didn't you?" 
 
 Dave was out of the house with a cheer before Bob 
 had swung clear of the saddle. The big lad's horse 
 snorted and shied away from the enthusiasm of the boys' 
 greeting. 
 
 "To-day? Finest thing can be! Wait, Bob, and I'll 
 ask father let me take Duffryn. He needs some work, 
 that horse does, and a bit of a go like this'll just fix 
 him. Only a minute!" Dave Thomas bolted into the 
 house. A moment later he returned, his warwhoop of 
 joy proclaiming the good news. 
 
 Hugh Thomas had noted with considerable satisfaction 
 the faithfulness with which his son had been attending 
 to the farm chores since he had given him permission 
 to trap regularly. What extra time he had allowed the 
 boy to go with Bob on Saturdays and occasionally during 
 the week by himself, had been mighty well spent,, accord- 
 ing to his reckoning. Farmer Thomas was shrewd. Not 
 vainly did the canny blood of Merionethshire run strong 
 in him. If he could keep his boy interested in manly 
 outdoor sports, in the real joy of the countryside, why 
 so much less were the chances of the lad growing rest- 
 less and wanting to drift off to the army before he was 
 old enough to think of that. Dave's longing for trap- 
 ping and the life of the wilderness, his way of wander- 
 ing off by himself, was not without its dangerous side 
 in the mind of his father. The man recognized these 
 tendencies and sought to offer something to satisfy them,
 
 88 SANDY FLASH 
 
 something to fill the natural drift of the boy and give 
 him what he wanted while still on the farm. He knew 
 that trapping was a form of service to the freezing men 
 at Valley Forge as well as a needful help to conditions 
 at home. Accordingly, when Dave burst into the kitchen 
 with his plea for a chance to ride Duffryn to the sets up 
 Ridley, Hugh Thomas gave ready consent. 
 
 Five minutes later, the boys were on their way, trot- 
 ting along toward Hunting Hill. Dave told briefly of 
 his failure to find anything when he had looked the line 
 over on Wednesday afternoon. Near the rabbit-snare 
 meadow, the younger boy swung off, throwing his mount's 
 reins to his comrade. 
 
 "Lead him round for me, by Edgemont corner, will 
 you, Bob, and I'll meet you on the road. Near the ford. 
 It won't take me long to run down here and look over 
 the sets we've got in the hollow. Then I'll join you 
 and we can cover the whole line on foot." 
 
 "All right, Dave. We can see to the other traps further 
 up best that way the rest of 'em. I hope we've had 
 some luck! The best place we've come across anywhere 
 on Ridley is that otter pond. It'd be worth while to 
 get that big fellow! It's the" 
 
 "It's the biggest otter Ridley water ever saw! Or 
 the whole county, I guess, for the matter of that! Say, 
 steer clear of Sandy Flash if you come across him hiding 
 any more stuff! He might tie you up and spank you with 
 a hickory stick!" 
 
 Both chums laughed, and the bigger boy rode off, 
 leading Duffryn. He could ride, could Bob Allyn, ride 
 with the best of them. Practice had given him his seat,
 
 THE STAG OF HUNTING HILL 89 
 
 his closely gripping thighs, but his hands, light and gentle 
 on the reins as any woman's, were the inborn gift of a 
 horseman. True hands are part of one's nature; no 
 amount of training can give them to one who has not 
 been blessed in the first place with this crowning at- 
 tribute of the rider. 
 
 Dave's tour of the trap line was short, but well worth 
 the trouble. His first haul offered a rabbit in the snare 
 loop and another in the coon set at the hollow log. 
 The last was disappointing, but trapper's luck, so the 
 lad made the best of it. The second log set showed two 
 sprung traps, empty, but no trail of any kind. A fresh 
 fall of snow accounted for that much, but he could find 
 no hint of how they had been sprung. Dave, none too 
 cheerful, hurried on to the skunk set on the hillside. 
 Here, he had been successful. Surely this was an agree- 
 able change from the blank he had drawn on Wednesday 
 last. This was the sort of luck that set his eyes to 
 sparkling with eagerness, that thrilled his whole body with 
 the surge of living. He had scored a point in the game 
 of outdoor chance. 
 
 A large skunk was in the trap, a big fellow, evidently 
 recently caught, as there was no sign of an attempt to 
 gnaw at the imprisoned foot. The boy got a stick, chose 
 a strategic position well above the hole and worked at 
 the chain. It was not long before the animal, in answer 
 to the jerking of the trap, had discharged the last of 
 its scent, filling the hole and the ground below it with 
 suffocating, choking stench like the odor of burning 
 rubber, only infinitely worse. Then Dave risked it and 
 managed to get the chain undone, keeping back from
 
 90 SANDY FLASH 
 
 and above the hole. He tried not to breathe. Indeed, 
 he was hardly able to. A turn or two of the chain about 
 the end of his long stick and he had retreated to one 
 side. Then, not waiting for the animal to secrete any 
 more scent fluid, he pulled it from the hole and swung 
 it down the bank deep in the waters of Ridley. A few 
 moments later he drew it out dead. 
 
 Dave looked at the rich, thick fur of the pelt. It was 
 a beauty, undeniably, and prime to a day. The color 
 was almost solid, scarcely a touch of white on it. The 
 tail was bushy and full. The animal was well above 
 average size. This, indeed, had been a catch worth while 
 one that served to restore the lad to higher spirits. 
 Happily, he hung the body of the skunk to a low branch 
 where it could dry out of harm's way. Then he rinsed 
 his hands in the brook and hurried up the hill, whistling 
 merrily as he climbed. 
 
 A moment later, he recalled the muskrat pond further 
 along stream, so he turned back and cut through the 
 underbrush to look it over. These traps were as lucky 
 as the skunk set, for each held a muskrat securely. The 
 stick had worked just as planned and the animal in that 
 particular set had been swung out into deep water and 
 drowned. The two traps at the end of the log had ac- 
 counted for their catch in like fashion. At the rat slide, 
 however, farther along Ridley, one trap had not been 
 sprung, although the parsnip was gone. Dave decided 
 it might have fallen off its stick, so he put another in 
 its place. He took two muskrats from the other sets. 
 Replacing the traps, he hastened onward by the stream, 
 eager to rejoin his companion with the story of their
 
 THE STAG OF HUNTING HILL 91 
 
 surpassing luck. Two rabbits, one large skunk, five musk- 
 rats, this was a red-letter day for sure. Then there was 
 still the otter pond. That would be the real test of 
 their ability. Dave walked fast and soon had reached 
 the edge of the Strasburg Road. He caught sight of 
 Bob waiting for him there near the ford. 
 
 "I say, thought you'd been tied to a tree this time! 
 What kept you so long?" Bob's voice carried shrilly 
 across the snow. "See we've had luck how many? 
 What'd we get?" 
 
 "Five!" Dave lifted his heavy bundle of muskrats 
 and swung them high, so that the other boy might see. 
 Truly it was as much as he could do to hold them up. 
 "Five of these, Bob! And a skunk, too! The biggest 
 fellow you ever saw! Left him by the creek. And two 
 rabbits. They're both" 
 
 "Steer clear of me, laddybuck, if you've been meddling 
 with a polecat!" Bob made pretense to run away. "Oh, 
 well, reckon you'll do long as you stay down wind! 
 I've left the horses in that barn near Edgemont. The 
 MacAfees'. Cunningham, their man, said it was all right. 
 They're out of the cold there." 
 
 "That's fine. Now we can work up the creek on 
 shank's mare and get to the pond in no time. I'll bet " 
 The boy ceased speaking as his chum broke in excitedly. 
 
 "Oh, I say, Dave! Look over yonder! Quick! The 
 beauty! it's " Bob dropped his bundle of traps in 
 the snow and ran up the wayside bank pointing toward 
 a treeless knoll a few hundred yards south of the road. 
 
 Silhouetted against the cold sky of early winter stood 
 an antlered stag, a white-tailed kingly creature from beam
 
 92 SANDY FLASH 
 
 to pointed tine, alert, head high, its questing nose swing- 
 ing here and there to the breeze. Dave gasped, then hissed 
 at his chum: 
 
 "Be quiet, Bob! Oh, can't you be still! You'll" 
 
 It was too late. The head with its glorious crown of 
 points swung round sharply, the delicate nostrils ringed 
 wide and red, blowing a cloudy breath of challenge upon 
 the frost-keen air. There was a flash of grayish flank, 
 as the stag turned and leaped, then the white flag of the 
 tail bobbed and fell from sight and bobbed to view again 
 and was gone beyond the swell of the hill. Madly the 
 boys broke through the fence line, loudly they cheered, 
 but any thought of chase was out of the question. They 
 had no guns; the tracks proved hopeless. 
 
 As they gazed out across the bowl of the valley toward 
 the Edgemont ridge, over the icy sheen of Ridley, east- 
 ward up the slopes, they caught their last view and wel- 
 comed it with a ringing halloa ! The spot moved steadily 
 on across the snowy upland. Once only did it stop as 
 it topped a rise, pausing to glance back, sharp etched again 
 against the sky. The boys could do nothing. Sadly they 
 pointed and longed for hound or gun. The next moment 
 the stag passed from sight, as it sank the hill. 
 
 "That's the thing for us, Dave! I say, we've got to 
 get him! Just got to! I'd rather have that buck than 
 the king otter itself! Almost! Wouldn't you? We'll 
 come out here again with guns and stalk it! I told you 
 there were still lots of deer about!" 
 
 "First of all, we'll never come to Hunting Hill or 
 anywhere else without a gun! I'll tell you that for fair! 
 Never again long as I have anything to say about it.
 
 T3 
 
 C 
 
 bd 
 
 bJC
 
 THE STAG OF HUNTING HILL 93 
 
 Why the deuce couldn't you keep still, Bob, when he 
 came so close on the little hill there? It's fine to talk 
 of plenty of deer, just after you've gone and scared the 
 biggest one we've seen clean away. Wait till your father 
 hears that!" 
 
 Still arguing hotly, the lads turned back from their 
 vain pursuit. Picking up the muskrats, they crossed the 
 road and kept on by the side of the creek, seeking the 
 luck that might await them at the otter pond. Each 
 boy was out of sorts. They knew they had acted in a 
 way that would have brought upon them the scorn of 
 any woodsman. 
 
 As they entered the fringe of forest that veiled the 
 hollow, a man armed with a gun stepped from the coppice 
 behind the knoll where the stag had first broken view. 
 Catching sight of the boys, he watched them in silent 
 anger till they had rounded a bend. Apparently, he had 
 been following close upon the animal when they had 
 startled it to flight. Now with a muttered curse, he stood 
 looking after them. 
 
 "Hum! Fine enough ye be at trappin', fine enough, 
 me hearties! But a bit too close to home." He noted 
 the lay of the landscape about him glumly. "Beside, 
 I can't have ye scarin' away any more stags. An' me 
 hard after stalkin' it to a shot, the neatest buck that 
 steps the Three Counties ! Trappin', is it? Hum! Ye'll 
 be back, little fear. Ye'll be passin' by this way, me 
 beauties, soon enough. A royal welcome ye'H find waitin'! 
 That ye will!" 
 
 Closely and long Sandy Flash studied the fringe of 
 woodland that marked the brook below. Then sullenly
 
 94 SANDY FLASH 
 
 the man turned and strode off among the chestnuts toward 
 Hunting Hill. 
 
 Meanwhile, Bob and Dave, unperturbed by suspicion 
 that they were being watched from above, walked on- 
 ward through the brookside beeches, intent only upon 
 the buck they had seen and the anticipation of the otter 
 sets. Twenty minutes after crossing the Strasburg Road, 
 the boys were deep in the little glen that hid the 
 stream below Dutton's Mill. The otter pond was soon 
 reached. Dave, forcing his way ahead, came first to the 
 high bank. Down he slid, his eyes everywhere seeking 
 signs of recent tracks in the freshly fallen snow. He 
 was not disappointed, for the same peculiarly awkward, 
 leaping footprints that they had noticed before showed 
 that the otters had been moving about in the neighbor- 
 hood of the slide since their last visit. As Bob came up, 
 they both caught sight of the pole to which their trap 
 chain had been fastened. It was leaning at a sharp angle 
 well out over the stream. The lads shouted together 
 at this discovery, too keen to heed the tradition of the 
 forest silence. But their joy gave place to chagrin when 
 they had pulled the trap to shore. 
 
 It had been sprung. An otter had been responsible 
 for that, as a tuft of fur, sleek, brown fur, of finest 
 texture, soon proved. Dave looked the trap over thor- 
 oughly, turning it about in his hands. Fast between the 
 powerful iron jaws, the bit of pelt told the tale. It was 
 not a foot, as he had at first supposed, but a wad nipped 
 from the chest of the animal. The color showed him 
 that. Clearly the otter had come off from its encounter 
 with the trap set but little the worse for the ordeal. And
 
 95 
 
 doubtless a good deal the wiser. It was patent it must 
 have learned a lesson of experience likely to make fur- 
 ther success with a trap well-nigh out of the question. 
 
 "Know what's done it?" questioned Bob at length. 
 "We nearly got him, sure enough, didn't we?" The feud 
 over the stag had slipped from his mind with a facility 
 that boyhood alone can command. 
 
 "It's hard to say just what did happen." Dave sprung 
 the toothed jaws open, allowing the bit of fur to fall 
 to the ground. Picking it up, he went on. "That's otter, 
 all right. Looks to me like one of 'em must have been 
 swimming or ducking about near the slide a few inches 
 under where it isn't frozen. Maybe he tried to coast 
 down it a little way. Must have stumbled on the trap 
 somehow, belly first, so that his chest hit it 'stead of his 
 foot. See? They're so darned quick and squirmy, just 
 like eels, you know. I reckon he twisted out of it before 
 the spring could close on more than a bit of his hair." 
 The lad allowed the trap to snap shut with a metallic 
 clash. 
 
 "I say! That's speed!" Bob whistled. "You're right 
 enough, I guess. No other way for it to happen. Bet we'll 
 never get him again that one. Hope to goodness it 
 wasn't the big fellow! What now? There're tracks 
 enough about to " 
 
 "Try for 'em again the same way. All I know to do. 
 They're here all right, a-plenty. Look at that log over 
 there. The poplar trunk running out in the water. See 
 the pile of droppings on the end? Otter droppings, that 
 is. It's one of their regular ways. It's up to us to go get 
 'em. They're waiting for us, Bob!"
 
 96 SANDY FLASH 
 
 Between them, they reset the trap in the slide about 
 six inches below the surface of the water. Then they 
 fixed the long stick with the chain exactly as they had 
 done before. Neither lad felt much hope of success, yet 
 on the other hand, they realized how very near they 
 must have come to attaining it when the fur had been 
 snipped from the very breast of the animal before it had 
 made good its escape. 
 
 "The trouble with otter is that they're just about the 
 slickest thing that swims," said Dave disconsolately, as 
 they ended their work. "It's harder to get one than most 
 anything 'cept fox. We might try " 
 
 "None of them for us!" Bob was instantly on guard. 
 "You know I told you foxes were the one thing we 
 wouldn't go for. My father " 
 
 "Only said they were hard to get." Dave chuckled 
 in delight at the way his friend had risen to the bait. 
 "Hold your horses, Bob! I'm getting to be a bit of a 
 fox hunter myself ! I'm not going to kill any more ground- 
 hogs these days, either, 'cause they're the fellows that dig 
 the holes the foxes use. Guess you knew that? How 
 about working along upstream? I've got a small trap 
 in my pocket that we could use for mink. We might find 
 a likely place for 'em." 
 
 "Fine! We've lots of time. It's hardly noon by the 
 sun. We can ride home quickly afterwards. I'd like to 
 get a nice mink pelt for my mother." 
 
 "I heard David Cunningham say there're plenty of 'em 
 up here where the creek's narrow in the hollow. Guess 
 we'd better move along." 
 
 Epth boys set great store by the woodcraft of the
 
 THE STAG OF HUNTING HILL 97 
 
 friendly man who worked on the farm of William Mac- 
 Afee just north of the Strasburg Road between Edge- 
 mont and Castle Rock. His hints nearly always proved 
 sound. They moved off now in Indian file, Dave leading. 
 
 This time the boys made slow progress, as it was nec- 
 essary to keep a close watch for tracks along the very 
 border of the water and here it was hardest for them to 
 walk. A good hour passed before they found what they 
 wanted. It was time well spent. No doubt remained as 
 to the presence of mink when luck finally came, far up 
 past the mill, where Ridley narrowed and wound its way 
 across the Barrens. The dead body of a muskrat first 
 caught the boys' eyes. It lay on the bank, close by the 
 water's edge. A clean-cut incision in the neck showed 
 where the blood had been sucked from the animal to the 
 last drop. The flesh was not otherwise torn. 
 
 "Mink!" Dave picked up the muskrat and turned in 
 triumph toward Bob. "They're at it like cats and dogs 
 all the time! Mink and muskrat never stop fighting, you 
 know. A mink's as wicked as a weasel, most, when it 
 comes to killing and sucking blood. Cunny was telling 
 me that they'd go for anything to get bloody meat. Even 
 a little lamb or a pig! That's true. He's seen 'em at it." 
 
 "Did you ever catch one?" Bob, practical as ever and 
 steadfast to the work in hand, looked at the stiff carcass. 
 "How?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. Cubbies are best. Got one or two of 'em 
 last year that way. Water sets are all right, though. 
 We'd better try one of those to-day and make a cubby 
 later on when we've more time." 
 
 Dave studied the tracks that told of the fight between
 
 98 SANDY FLASH 
 
 the mink and the unfortunate muskrat. The bank rose 
 sharply here, to his left, leaving a narrow strand along 
 which the mink had evidently been walking when the at- 
 tack began. The boy, all eagerness as he read the marks, 
 pointed them out to Bob. He was literally seeing that 
 fight in his mind's eye, living it himself from start to 
 finish, with all the vivid detail of his imagination. 
 
 "We'll trust to luck he'll come back this way again. 
 We'd best set the trap right here, I guess. Queer how 
 they fight, mink and rats, every minute. A mink never 
 eats a thing but meat it's got to be fresh and raw, too. 
 That's why they're so savage! Look, Bob, where it first 
 pounced on the poor muskrat! See how they fought!" 
 
 "I'm not so sure they only eat fresh meat," Bob as- 
 serted himself with confidence. "I once saw a mink, actu- 
 ally watched him, down by our stream, and he was tear- 
 ing away at a piece of rotten, maggoty stuff one of the 
 dogs had carried there and left. It was that bad, a fel- 
 low could hardly come close to it, yet " 
 
 "Then he was after the maggots in it, not the meat it- 
 self," reasserted Dave. "They'll eat maggots all right. 
 I've found rotten meat, too, that they'd torn apart to get 
 at. But they never eat it. It's one sure way to know it's 
 mink you're on to." 
 
 The tracks along the narrow ledge of shore were 
 grouped in pairs, perhaps fifteen inches apart, the left 
 foot first. Dave called this to his comrade's notice. 
 
 "It's pretty easy to tell mink that way from the tracks 
 because they're always like it. When I built my cub- 
 bies last winter for the ones I got, I made 'em of sticks 
 about a foot square and a foot high maybe a little
 
 THE STAG OF HUNTING HILL 99 
 
 more. They had three sides and I put up the trap right 
 in the open side, covered over. Then I put the bait way 
 in the back and roofed 'em over with more sticks and 
 snow. Father told me how to do it right." 
 
 "What did you use for bait? Parsnips or apples or 
 what?" 
 
 "Meat, I said. Got to be meat. They only like it 
 bloody, just as I told you. Muskrat's best, but rabbit or 
 chicken's most as good. I've used a dead muskrat that 
 I'd just caught. A mink has lots of curiosity, like a coon, 
 I reckon, so he hunts round investigating the cubby. 
 'Course he can only get in one way and so he steps on 
 the trap as he creeps toward the bait at the back. An- 
 other thing, minks always crawl through every hollow 
 log they come across, exploring 'em like. We're apt to 
 get one in that coon set of ours, back yonder, where we 
 covered the trap with the punky wood and put it inside. 
 Wouldn't surprise me a bit, if we did." 
 
 Dave noticed a point a rod or two beyond where the 
 pathway narrowed to a few inches. It was ideal for the 
 set he had in mind. Staking his trap securely to a nearby 
 stump, he placed the set just under water at the very edge 
 of the brook. In order to get it below the surface, he had 
 to scrape out a handful or two of pebbles and mud. He 
 then hid the metal with leaves. Sure that all was ar- 
 ranged as cleverly as his woodcraft could direct, he 
 looked about the bank. A large rock, a good foot round, 
 lay near to hand. With Bob's help, he managed to lift it 
 and drop it in place squarely upon the narrow shore be- 
 tween the water and the bank, very effectually blocking 
 the passage. However, a moment's survey convinced him
 
 ioo SANDY FLASH 
 
 that this was not all that he needed, for spying a par- 
 tially fallen branch nearby he pulled that down, too, so 
 that it rested on top of the rock. 
 
 "I ought to have lopped that bough off in the first place. 
 Anything could climb over the stone by itself. It's all 
 right now, though, nothing can get past it and the limb, 
 both, unless they climb all the way up the bank. If a 
 mink comes marching by, and he's certain sure to, sooner 
 or later, he'll step round it in the water. And there's the 
 trap ready waiting for him! It's as sure a set for 'em as 
 you can make. Simple as pie, too, isn't it?" Dave 
 grinned, "Once you know how!" 
 
 "Sometimes when the bank doesn't run up steep and 
 make a little path like this down below," he pointed, "it's 
 fine to stake down fresh meat, rats or a rabbit or a bit of 
 raw chicken, close to the water edge. They'll see that 
 sure, coming along. Then you put the trap near it. In 
 a cubby always, the bait's got to be, of course." 
 
 "Have to find their tracks first, I guess, same as most 
 everything else." Bob splashed some water with a stick 
 upon the marks made by him and Dave during the set- 
 ting of the trap. "I say, we've made a deuce of a mess 
 here, tramping all about the place." 
 
 "Yes, and gotten good and wet, too." Dave kicked 
 out a well-soaked moccasin. "The thing's first to find out 
 where the minks have been coming from the tracks 
 then make the sets and the cubbies for 'em. Naturally! 
 Roundabout stumps, sometimes, and covered with leaves, 
 gives a pretty fair place." 
 
 He pulled a large stick from where it had lodged
 
 THE STAG OF HUNTING HILL 101 
 
 against a boulder and joined Bob in splashing water along 
 the path where they had trodden the way to a muddy 
 slush. Whether or not water would do any good, he did 
 not know. The next fall of snow would hide their traces, 
 at any event, so neither boy bothered very much about it. 
 
 "That'll do, I reckon. If any more mink come by, 
 they'll trot along the path. And they'll have to step in 
 the water, to get round, so that's the best we can do for 
 'em. Hadn't we better be starting back, Bob? I'm 
 starved almost hollow as a grouse log. Really! And 
 we've nothing to eat with us, either. 'Less you feel like a 
 try at raw rabbit or some muskrat meat? That's about 
 the cleanest thing there is. Tastes a little like chicken." 
 
 "No, I reckon not. We'd best be getting along now. 
 Your turn to fetch the horses this trip. Meet me on the 
 Providence road. I'll go straight down creek and pick up 
 the skunk. I know the place you left it. The muskrats 
 and the rabbits I'll take along now. I say, give me the 
 bag, will you? That's it!" 
 
 They trudged off without more debate. Half an hour 
 later, they rejoined one another at the spot where they 
 had parted in the morning. Bob slung the skunk across 
 the pummel of his saddle, then climbed up himself. Dave 
 hung the rabbits in the game bag over his shoulder 
 and the muskrats, lashed together in a bundle, half and 
 half across his own saddle bow. It was a well-satisfied 
 pair of boys that parted company at the Thomas farm- 
 stead. Never had they dreamed of such luck at their 
 traps within so short a time. It had come to them as 
 a result, really, of the long days of earnest work that
 
 102 SANDY FLASH 
 
 Dave had put in studying the life of the forest before he 
 got his father's approval for systematic attention to the 
 sport. His patience was reaping its reward. 
 
 The main thought in the minds of both, as they turned 
 their horses' heads apart at the crossways, was for the 
 stag of Hunting Hill. That was a matter demanding ac- 
 tion, immediate, brooking no delay. They would try for 
 it Monday. As they called farewell and jogged off, the 
 future looked very rosy to them, as well it might They 
 had left one important consideration from their reckon- 
 ing, however. Neither boy gave thought to the presence 
 of Sandy Flash in the neighborhood, though the finding 
 of the silver cup from the Lewises' might well have warned 
 them. Neither suspected for an instant that they had 
 been watched by the outlaw that very morning. Nor did 
 they know that this was not the first time, by any means, 
 that he had been near them while they were tending 
 their traps. 
 
 Sandy Flash had taken cognizance of their presence 
 when chance had led him upon Dave's rabbit snare in 
 the meadow a fortnight before. The dangling game had 
 filled a needed want in his larder. It was the day after 
 this that he had come to Hunting Hill again, this time 
 with Peter Burgandine. Indeed, having strapped the old 
 farmer to the oak, he had suddenly recalled the snare, not 
 so far away, and determined to revisit it. Having set it 
 again, he would come back to the tortured man, trusting 
 that the interval in the killing cold of December might 
 serve to loosen his tongue and show way to money. Hear- 
 ing the boys hastening up the slope, he had sought his 
 horse, tethered near the Strasburg Road, and ridden off.
 
 THE STAG OF HUNTING HILL 103 
 
 The chase from the Brandywine had been enough for one 
 day. Then had followed, on a wild urge of the moment, 
 the daring affair at the Newtown inn when he had bearded 
 the posse itself and disappeared. In the afternoon of 
 the same day, he had circled back, pilfered the Lewis 
 home of its silver and disappeared under cover of twi- 
 light. 
 
 Sandy Flash since then had not gone back to Hand's 
 Pass nor to Newlin or Bradford, as the good people fondly 
 supposed. The great rock retreat near Cain Meeting 
 was empty. Rather he had been lying quiet close by in 
 Edgemont, craftily maturing plans of his own, getting 
 himself as snugly fixed in his new lair as possible. The 
 trapping operations of Bob Allyn and Dave soon drew 
 his attention to them and more than once he had been 
 within gunshot, as he shadowed their steps from tree to 
 tree along the brook. Had Dave but known it, it was 
 none other than the outlaw who had taken two coons 
 from the log traps and neglected to reset them before the 
 boy came by the Wednesday .previous. Sandy was living 
 well in his cave at Castle Rock, thanks to the abundance 
 of game and to the convenient endeavors of the boys. 
 
 The first real hint that came to him of danger from 
 them grew out of their set at the otter pond and their 
 finding of Thomas Lewis's silver tankard. The high- 
 wayman had, just as Bob suspected, hidden his loot in 
 several handy nooks and crannies here and there through- 
 out the woods of Edgemont and Newtown within reach 
 of Castle Rock. It so happened that he had the stolen 
 mugs with him when he had made his way toward his 
 hiding place, circling roundabout under cover of the Rid-
 
 104 SANDY FLASH 
 
 ley Woodlands. Seeing the otter hole in the bank not 
 far from Button's, he had slipped the cup in it for safe 
 keeping, never suspecting that the boys would trap so far 
 up the narrowing stream. Besides, he was making a com- 
 mon cache of all his plunder high among the crags of 
 Castle Rock, where no chance rover would be apt to 
 stumble upon it. He hoped soon to remove everything 
 there. 
 
 Put on guard by the discovery of the silver, Sandy 
 Flash had at last made up his mind to watch the boys in 
 earnest. He was quite ready to go any length where his 
 own safety was concerned or where the carrying out of 
 his schemes seemed threatened. Particularly, what he 
 had in hand just now. The man was a strange mingling 
 of bestial cruelty and selfishness, warped with a strand 
 of what might have approached chivalry. His lashing 
 and torture of old Peter Burgandine had shown one side 
 of his degenerate nature. And the Newlin farmer was 
 not the only one who had been tied up and beaten in like 
 fashion. On the other hand, stories were rife of Sandy 
 Flash occasionally showing a kindly disarming friendship 
 toward his fellows, even giving the money he had taken 
 from well-to-do to help more poor and needy folk he met 
 with on the way. 
 
 Once while riding back to his cave in the Valley Hills, 
 between Cain Meeting and the old stone mill, he had 
 come upon a poor woman bound to market. She had a 
 few shillings and pence tied carefully in her kerchief, but, 
 even so, feared the chance of meeting with the dreaded 
 robber. On seeing Sandy Flash, she had asked him to
 
 THE STAG OF HUNTING HILL 105 
 
 go with her through the wood, explaining her anxiety for 
 her little treasure, should she be stopped by the highway- 
 man. Sandy very courteously went with her to the far 
 edge of the copse where the road stretched down through 
 open fields toward the hamlet in the Valley. There, he 
 stopped, took off his hat and made himself known, pre- 
 senting the astonished old lady with a golden sovereign 
 before he slipped away among the trees. 
 
 Another twist in the man's nature was his love of dare- 
 deviltry toward the authorities and the farmer posses that 
 vainly tried to bring him to a reckoning at the bar of 
 justice. He had even gone so far as to round up two of 
 them, while they were out hunting the hills for him one 
 day, and he had given them a lasting taste of the lashing 
 that Burgandine had endured. 
 
 All in all, however, the man was a dangerous scoundrel, 
 well deserving to be hung. The few tricks he had played 
 on his pursuers and his occasional gifts to the poor, these 
 vastly exaggerated in the telling, blinded a person here 
 and there to the real villainy he was guilty of in the 
 county and to the utterly heartless way in which he 
 usually treated his victims. It was thanks to these mis- 
 guided folk, luckily only two or three in all, that the out- 
 law was able to escape capture and fare as well as he 
 did, hidden away in his many places of concealment. 
 They kept him in ammunition and food, what little of 
 both he needed, apart from the results of his robberies. 
 Most of his provisions he could get himself with his 
 flintlock. Like many clever criminals, Sandy Flash knew 
 the value of appearing in a hero's guise before the simple
 
 io6 SANDY FLASH 
 
 folk, whenever he could. He invariably turned this pose 
 of helpfulness to good account, with never the faintest 
 heart throb of sincerity in it. 
 
 The stag he had been stalking this fair morning would 
 have meant smoked venison enough and to spare for many 
 weeks had not the boys startled it away from all chances 
 of a shot at that time. Sandy put that fact to their reck- 
 oning against the time he should have a settlement of 
 scores. He had a way of doing this that meant small 
 good for those concerned. 
 
 It is strange how little things alter the whole trend of 
 the future. The mild Saturday on which the boys had 
 ridden over to look at their traps by Hunting Hill was 
 touched with a bite of keener breeze as it grew toward 
 noon. This had led Bob to stable the horses at the Mac- 
 Afees', as he had explained to his chum, so that they 
 might be out of wind, until it was time for the return ride, 
 Coming home, it was Dave's turn to walk back for them 
 to the corners and on to meet Bob again by the road above. 
 As we know, the boy had done it. So it was that Sandy 
 Flash waited vainly till well after one o'clock for the lads 
 to approach him on foot, past the lower reaches of Ridley, 
 where he had concealed himself. 
 
 It was cold up there on the hill, bitter cold, standing 
 still, as the wind came flooding sharply up the valley. 
 The man cursed his folly for not having stalked them to 
 the brookside in the first place. Not knowing they had 
 gone far on to the mink track, he had mistakenly fancied 
 that they would come back as soon as they had worked a 
 little way along the stream. At last, he gave up all hopes 
 of seeing them and turned his steps toward Castle Rock.
 
 THE STAG OF HUNTING HILL 107 
 
 It did not take him long to reach a strip of woodland 
 that swept from the southwestern slope of that hill up a 
 swale in the ground to the ridge topped by the Providence 
 Road. This high ground divided Crum on the east from 
 the waters of Ridley on the west. The outlaw could 
 move about pretty much as he pleased in both valleys 
 with plenty of cover and little chance of being seen. It 
 was only while crossing the road on the bare hilltop that 
 he had to make use of any special care to avoid detec- 
 tion. Even then it offered not the least difficulty to one 
 trained, as Flash had been from boyhood, in the ways of 
 the wood. 
 
 Castle Rock in Edgemont is a high hill bearing almost 
 the same relation to Crum Creek that Hunting Hill does 
 to Ridley. The forested slope on the east runs down 
 sharply to the edge of the brook. On the south, it drops 
 more gently to a narrow open valley, cut by the silver 
 sparkle of a swift little stream. The Strasburg Road 
 bounds the northern foot of Castle Rock where the oak 
 woods stretch upward from wayside thicket to the 
 weathered boulders that top the summit far above. 
 
 It was here at the peak of Castle Rock that the wooded 
 hill had won its name. And rightly so. Jutting high 
 among the ancient oaks and hickories, yet thoroughly hid- 
 den by them, bulked a great mass of granite. A huge 
 tower of it, gray, moss-grown, irregular, battered here and 
 there, with lichened shafts of rock reaching far above 
 the rest, it caught and held the eye like the crenelated 
 merlons of some crumbling old-world barbican. The 
 sides were solid in places, rising sheer for many yards. 
 Near the foot of the rocks, where the granite broke from
 
 io8 SANDY FLASH 
 
 out of the solid core of the hill and pitched its tower 
 among the trees, a little opening hid behind a screen of 
 vines and briers. It was the only entrance to a natural 
 cleft or cavern in the rocks. 
 
 Instead of trying to crawl up to this from the west, 
 through an almost impassable tangle of thorns and briers 
 and wild-grapevines, Sandy Flash circled the pile and then 
 crept round its face, clinging to a little ledge of granite 
 that offered fair footing to one who knew the way. Above 
 the opening he paused, pushed the matted screen back 
 from the rock with his foot, then lowered himself gingerly 
 from grip to grip, toehold to toehold, till he dropped from 
 sight onto a platform below. The vines swung back 
 promptly to their former position above his head. The 
 outlaw stood within a perfect network of interwoven 
 thorns of such thickness that even the winter loss of leaves 
 had not forced them to lay bare the secret beneath. 
 
 Assured that the screen was as before, the man bent 
 low and pushed his way along the narrow crack in the 
 granite. A fair amount of light enabled him to see, some 
 of it coming from within, through a crevice in the roof. 
 A moment later, he stood erect in the middle of a good- 
 sized cave, brushing the dust from his sleeve. The place 
 was dry as a bone, high enough for him to walk upright 
 in some places and quite large enough for several men to 
 sit down in comfortably. A rude fireplace had been built 
 in one corner by the simple expedient of rolling together 
 some flat stones. A darkened streak up the sloping wall 
 of granite showed the outlet for smoke. It escaped 
 through the same little split that let in light near the en- 
 trance. A penny dip stuck on a harrow tooth driven in a
 
 iog 
 
 crack served to light the place, when Sandy had scratched 
 at his flint and flashed a bit of powder in the pan. The 
 candle spluttered a moment, then burned with a clear 
 yellow light. 
 
 A bundle of clothes near the fireplace stirred, as a man 
 sat up suddenly rubbing his eyes and stretching, turn by 
 turn. He was not nice to look upon. Unshaven, dirty 
 to a degree, sullen and evil-eyed, the fellow had none of 
 the swaggering neatness that marked the bearing of Sandy 
 Flash. Rather he looked every inch the thieving black- 
 guard that he was. Mordecai Dougherty yawned loudly, 
 then spat in the embers of a dying fire. 
 
 "Wot luck, Cap'n? Any buck meat?" 
 
 "Little enough, me sleepin' beauty!" Sandy Flash set 
 the candle so that the light fell across the hearth. "Shake 
 out there, Mort, an' cut me a bite o' pork from the hunk 
 yonder, like a good fellow. I'll stir up a fire. The lads 
 with the traps ruined the finest hit o' venison for us ye 
 ever clapped eyes on. The buck I told ye of, it was. 
 The very same!" 
 
 "Snared it, the dirty raskils?" Mordecai bent to draw 
 a villainous looking knife, none too clean, from its rest- 
 ing place in his left stocking. Then he set about slicing 
 the meat. "I said ye ought to've knocked 'em off fer fair, 
 the brace of 'em, the time wot they first found yer siller 
 drinkin' mug." 
 
 "I'm runnin' this party! When your ways're wanted, 
 they'll be asked for. Not sooner. Understand? No, 
 they didn't snare the deer. Naturally not! How'd they 
 know to? Scared it off the very sights o' me gun, though, 
 the beauty that it was, too! Foolin' with traps and
 
 no SANDY FLASH 
 
 snares, and all that, they were, over in the other valley. 
 Reckon ye never thought o' seein' to our own nags, now, 
 did ye?" 
 
 Dougherty's answer was to lay aside the meat and make 
 his way out of the cave, followed by a hearty curse from 
 his leader. By the time he had returned, the fire was un- 
 der way, taking some of the chill from the cavern. And 
 a cleverly built fire it was. Very small, of the driest 
 wood, it served to boil a pot of water and cook the simple 
 meal, yet it gave forth practically no smoke. Sandy Flash 
 went on with his tale, describing the stalk of the stag and 
 his vain wait for the boys' return. Mordecai Dougherty 
 offered no further suggestions, but it was clear that he 
 felt that the presence of the lads and the knowledge they 
 had, justified extremes. The man was lacking in Flash's 
 brains, but he was every whit as cruel in destroying 
 what stood in his way. Just now both men had plans 
 brewing of considerable import. They lost no more time 
 in getting to them. 
 
 "I've gotten the whole thing pretty well lined up, 
 Mort." Sandy Flash carefully replenished the fire with 
 more dry sticks, using an iron rod as a poker. He had 
 found it in the cave. "That message ye brought me last 
 night from Moses Doan turned the trick for a good 'unl 
 So they're to ship the gold toward Head of Elk, are 
 they? Reckon it's less likely to be captured there, eh? 
 How about it's gettin' down there first, says I! How 
 about that, me hearty?" 
 
 "This comin' week, it is. We heard it all. Old Doan 
 he sez wot " Dougherty paused, as Sandy Flash mo-
 
 THE STAG OF HUNTING HILL in 
 
 tioned for silence in a way that showed he looked for 
 obedience. 
 
 "They're afraid to use the main road through Chester, 
 I take it? It'd be too risky for 'em. Hum! They're to 
 come straight west, are they, just as Doan told me he 
 thought they would, when he spoke o' me comin' to Castle 
 Rock in the first place? Think o' that, me dear! They're 
 to ride right by our door, ye might say on the Goshen 
 Road! Ye've told me so! It's a favor truly they're after 
 doin' us. An' not a one the wiser!" Flash laughed. 
 "Thinkin' I'm back in Cain or Bradford! They'll wake 
 up more sudden than they fell asleep, that they will!" 
 
 "Ye're forgettin' the cup an' the boys wot found it. 
 It's not our'n yet, that gold ain't, nor like to be, either, 
 long as ye let that pair o' sneakin' spies have the run o' 
 the country. They'll be fetchin' a halter tether fer us 
 both, Cap'n Fitz, before " 
 
 "Oh, no, they won't! Rest ye easy on that. Listen, 
 now, to what I'm tellin' ye, an' stow the gab. Ye're pow- 
 erful strong in talk, but poverishin' little work it is ye're 
 doin'." 
 
 Sandy Flash ran over the fuller details of his plot for 
 the enlightenment of his accomplice. Tipped off by the 
 infamous Moses Doan, through Mordecai, who had acted 
 as go-between, it appeared that Flash had learned some 
 while before of the authorities covertly collecting large 
 sums of money for use in buying military stores. This, 
 in gold coin, was to be moved as soon as might be from 
 its present precarious hiding place close to the enemy's 
 lines. Arrangements had just been made to do this by 
 couriers, one of whom was to ride out past Newtown
 
 ii2 SANDY FLASH 
 
 Square and the White Horse, then south to the Brandy- 
 wine by the Street Road and on toward Head of Elk. 
 All secretly and under cover of darkness. 
 
 Sandy Flash had acted on Doan's advice and moved to 
 Castle Rock a fortnight before, bent upon lying quietly 
 in wait until he should have received further word. All 
 was now in readiness and the tip had come with the ar- 
 rival of Dougherty at the cave the evening before. Sandy 
 disclosed a few of his own plans as the conference ended. 
 He lent emphasis to his words by speaking slowly, tapping 
 the hearth stone with the iron rod. 
 
 "Do ye understand now, me hearty, why ye've no man- 
 ner o' need to be botherin' about 'em? 'Tis perishin' little 
 that couple o' game cocks'll have to do with this deal! 
 Ye can tell Moses, too, he's no need o' worry." 
 
 Sandy chuckled at the look of unbelieving surprise be- 
 ginning to dawn in the face of his companion. It gave 
 way to a sort of grudging admiration, as the meaning of 
 the leader's words sank deeper. Mordecai Dougherty 
 was a brute and hardened to most things, yet now he 
 whistled softly. 
 
 "Ye'd not try that! It's but lads they be after all, 
 Cap'n. Ye couldn't." 
 
 "Oh, couldn't I? Just bide a wee an' see who couldn't! 
 Do ye know what the rider's to carry? In solid coin o' 
 the realm, me beauty! " Sandy's lips purred as he named 
 it. "Now, how about it, lads or no? Eh?" 
 
 Dougherty nodded. 
 
 Meanwhile, at Sycamore Mills, Bob Allyn had just 
 wheedled his father out of a promise to let him have Mon- 
 day off for a try at the stag. He little knew to what the 
 chase would lead him.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 THE BEAVER DAM 
 
 THE two boys put in a quiet Sunday. A few neces- 
 sary chores in the morning were gotten over with as 
 soon as might be. Then came the reading of family 
 prayer, as neither the Allyns or the Thomases were able 
 to arrange for the long drive to church, this particular 
 morning. But both families replaced this with a little 
 service of their own at home, as was their custom. A 
 late dinner kept them at table till mid-afternoon. Before 
 one could realize it the short winter day had slipped on 
 to twilight and the sun began to set across the hills of dis- 
 tant Thornbury. There was a queer, uncertain light there 
 in the west. John Allyn looked at it a moment critically 
 as he came up from the barn by Sycamore Mills. Then 
 he shook his head and spoke to Bob, who was walking 
 beside him with a pail of milk. 
 
 "That's a lovely sight, if ever there was one, son, but 
 it's got the token of change in it. Mind how the wind's 
 gone down and the snow's got a yellow streak to it off 
 there under the sunset? By to-morrow we'll have it in a 
 different quarter. I feel the weather breeding in my 
 bones already. 'Tis a queer thing that, but it rarely 
 fails." 
 
 Bob had thought of riding over to Dave's after supper, 
 but now he gave up the idea. He studied the sky care- 
 fully. Of late, he had begun to take an interest in such 
 
 113
 
 ii4 SANDY FLASH 
 
 things. Not only did he appreciate more than he used to 
 the unsearchable beauties of coloring burning so vividly 
 there before him, but he also was learning what a vast 
 wealth of practical information the clouds and the sky 
 and the sunlight contained for those who had schooled 
 themselves to read the lessons aright. He knew that his 
 father was the best teacher he could have, for big John 
 Allyn had been making his farming earn him a livelihood 
 from boyhood, thanks in no small way, to his skillful 
 judging of wind and weather. Bob now noted the for- 
 mation of the clouds and the coloring on the hilltops with 
 a view of putting their signs to account. The beauty of 
 the thing held him a moment, then with a shift of thought, 
 his mind turned toward Dave and the passion of his chum 
 for the open and all the ways of nature. 
 
 "Father, I reckon you're like Dave Thomas." Bob 
 laughed, as he looked at the tall form of his parent. 
 "Dave's always busy studying out what's going to happen 
 next to the weather and telling what hour it is from the 
 sun and the stars, if it's night. Everything like that. I 
 used to laugh at him, but I'm going to pick up a bit of it 
 myself. Look yonder, at that funny twist of cloud with 
 no glow on it at all. Looks just like smoke from a chim- 
 ney to me. I say, what's it mean?" 
 
 "I'm glad you saw it." Mr. Allyn glanced at the cloud 
 his son had spoken of. "It's just a freak of the wind! 
 Know what it puts me in mind of, though? It's for all 
 the world like the signal fires the Delawares used to make 
 in the olden days. They'd send 'em up when they were 
 out hunting, sometimes, when they'd gotten on the track 
 of a big herd of deer. Then when they made their camps
 
 THE BEAVER DAM 115 
 
 they kept signal smokes going most all the time, telling 
 outlying parties I don't know what. Used to scare the 
 old-time settlers mighty near out their skins for fear it 
 was trouble brewing. But it never was hereabouts, thanks 
 to Penn's Treaty." 
 
 "Where did they make the fires?" asked Bob. "On 
 the highest hills they could?" 
 
 "Yes. They had fixed places more or less. One was 
 the Cathcart Rock in Willistown. Then another was 
 Signal Hill beyond Old St. David's, Radnor. The oldest 
 fire rock of all was great stone down by Lewis's Mill, 
 near the Darby Road. They say the Indians used that 
 for a thousand years and more. I reckon they did, from 
 all the smoke that's on it to this very day. I once saw 
 one in Middletown, too." 
 
 Father and son climbed the little slope to the house and 
 went indoors. Supper was waiting. As they ate, the talk 
 veered round to the chances of finding the stag. Bob 
 made ready for an early start by going to bed in good 
 season. He knew what he could look forward to, once the 
 stalk began. 
 
 Monday morning dawned in a smother of fog a thaw 
 faint with the tang of the distant sea. Blurred trees 
 dripped with the moisture of it. Hedgerows lost them- 
 selves in swirling eddies of it. Even farm buildings, 
 familiar barns and sheds and corncribs, rose in gray, un- 
 certain masses, different altogether from their wonted 
 selves. But little wind stirred the mist and what there 
 was came drifting in from the east, over the hills of Upper 
 Providence. John Allyn had discerned the face of the 
 sky truly. The change had come over night.
 
 n6 SANDY FLASH 
 
 Dave, near Rose Tree corner, was up in the wet chill 
 of earliest dawn, seeing to his cnores. Like Bob, he had 
 his father's consent to take the day off in search of the 
 deer. And he had no idea of being late. At the crossing 
 where the lane from Sycamore Mills joined the Provi- 
 dence Road, the boys hailed one another gleefully. This 
 was a red-letter day one that did not come to them often 
 and right royally their spirits were rallying to it. A mo- 
 ment's pause settled their course of action. 
 
 First they would go cross country to Hunting Hill, 
 looking at such traps as chanced to lie in their way. Then 
 they would work north by the Ridley Woodlands on the 
 watch for signs of deer. Hugh Thomas had heard of 
 their particular stag being viewed several times lately on 
 the forested slopes of the high ground over toward Fairie 
 Hill and the Rising Sun in Willistown. Both lads de- 
 termined to seek it first in that quarter. They could ask 
 for report of it as they crossed the farms beyond the 
 Strasburg Road. They felt that such an antlered crown 
 could not have escaped notice in the neighborhood for 
 long. 
 
 As they followed Ridley north, they could spare a mo- 
 ment's passing to look at the otter and mink sets since 
 these were along their line. Bob had brought a large 
 trap with him on the chance of finding a beaver dam. 
 Each boy carried a flintlock, powder horn and bullet 
 pouch. Then they had a sandwich or so crammed in their 
 pockets, simple wheat bread and cheese, which they could 
 munch as they went along. This was to be a tramp of 
 many miles at best and they were eager to travel un-
 
 THE BEAVER DAM 117 
 
 hampered and avail themselves of daylight to the last 
 moment. 
 
 The first traps they visited were unsprung, just as they 
 had left them two days before. A coon, however, re- 
 warded them in one of the hollow logs. While Bob des- 
 patched the pugnacious creature with a merciful blow on 
 the head, fearing to risk the noise of a shot, Dave ran 
 on to the next log. Here the trap was still set, so they 
 hid their spoil and hastened to the bank where the skunk 
 had been caught on the Saturday preceding. This was 
 empty, but the trappers were not downcast by it. They 
 could hardly be expected to fill all their traps in so short 
 a time. 
 
 "We've been lucky enough as it is to satisfy most." 
 Dave made sure that the trap was in working order. "But 
 I reckon nobody's ever really satisfied with what he's got, 
 do you? The more he has, the more he wants ! We both 
 ought" 
 
 "I'm ready to call us lucky! " Bob shifted his flintlock 
 into the crook of his arm. "We'll clean out the whole 
 country in no time, if we keep it up like we've begun. 
 Do you know, Dave, I think we ought to use judgment in 
 this trapping game. I mean we ought to trap only what 
 we really need, and what there's lots of. If we don't, why 
 first thing you know we'll begin to run out of a supply!" 
 
 "That's a funny one!" Dave laughed. "How could 
 anybody ever make a dent in all the game there's here- 
 abouts? Why, there's so much of it that we could make 
 the whole army fur coats and lug 'em over to the Valley 
 Forge!"
 
 ii8 SANDY FLASH 
 
 "What about the fish in the Brandywine, then?" broke 
 in Bob. "Don't you know only a few years back the 
 stream had heaps and heaps of shad in it far up as the 
 Forks in Bradford and miles beyond, too? Where're 
 they now? There's not a one, hardly, only trout and bass 
 and fall fish, and all because folks have fished the shad 
 out and built dams for 'em and set nets for 'em whole- 
 sale. Why, if they just keep on like they've started, we 
 won't have any game left some day." 
 
 "We've not over-set our end of the country, at any 
 rate." Dave picked up his gun and together they turned 
 from the earth. "But it's worth thinking of, as we go on 
 trapping. Let's see how many we've caught all together 
 so far." He fell to checking over their list. 
 
 The walk for several miles proved uneventful. No trace 
 or slot of deer greeted them. At the pool where the musk- 
 rat houses rose like queer haycocks through the mist, the 
 boys took several animals, safely drowned, from the traps. 
 This was not much of a surprise, but it did give them a 
 pleasant tingle of satisfaction. Luck was evidently with 
 them still. 
 
 "Rats are stupid things." Dave sprung the trap he 
 held, letting the dead muskrat flop upon the snow. "A 
 fellow can make sets and catch 'em, day after day, and 
 they never seem to understand enough what's going on 
 to be afraid." He replaced the trap in the water and se- 
 cured the pole. "Let's move along, Bob." 
 
 A disappointment awaited them at the pond in the 
 glen where the set had been made for the otter. It was 
 just as they had left it, although fresh tracks were in 
 evidence a-plenty about the bank. Unmistakable, among
 
 THE BEAVER DAM 119 
 
 the others, ran those of the giant they had noticed before 
 the king otter of the pool. The boys were clearly at 
 fault somewhere, yet neither of them knew in what way. 
 It would have been no small comfort to them had they 
 understood that the otter is regarded by the professional 
 trapper as one of the most difficult of all animals to take. 
 When they had nipped a bit of fur from one of them, they 
 had come as near success as they were likely to in that 
 small place where every otter was now doubly on guard. 
 Not knowing the difficulties before them, they kept dog- 
 gedly at it, which was, after all, the best thing they could 
 do. The mink set in the water by the foot of the bank re- 
 stored them to high feelings the instant they caught sight 
 of the animal in it. It was a fair-sized one, probably 
 twenty-five inches from muzzle to tail tip, and the fur 
 was prime. Especially did the catch justify the wisdom 
 of the way they had laid their trap. It showed that they 
 had read the signs aright and tried for mink where mink 
 were. Two minutes' delay served to reset the trap in the 
 same place. 
 
 "It's a regular walk they have along here, like as not, 
 where they come hunting after muskrats," volunteered 
 Dave. "We might as well try it again. This pelt's fine. 
 We'll get a jolly good price for it at the Pratt. Or we can 
 see what mother can make out of it. Your mother, if she'll 
 do it." 
 
 "No need for a cubby here, I guess, or whatever you 
 call 'em." Bob stroked the sleek fur. "The water set 
 does just as well, it seems to me. Besides, it's lots easier. 
 Nothing to it but putting in a trap. We'll divvy up on 
 the pelts to-night. I think we ought to have enough pretty
 
 120 SANDY FLASH 
 
 soon to take over to the Valley Forge for caps and 
 things." 
 
 "All right. Here's for the water set again," said Dave. 
 "Sometimes you have to have cubbies, though. They're 
 good things, all right. It's the only way you can get a 
 fisher a black cat, that is. I heard a fellow once say 
 there're lots of 'em back in the mountains where the green 
 timber grows spruce, they love, fishers do." 
 
 "I say, how'd he get 'em?" Bob pricked up his ears 
 for what might be useful. "Did he try in the woods?" 
 
 "Built cubbies for 'em. Over in the pines of Birming- 
 ham, it was. Just like mine I told you of for mink. Only 
 bigger. His were a good two feet long and a foot wide 
 and high. Then he covered 'em over with spruce boughs 
 for thatch to keep the snow from filling 'em up. He said 
 the less you fooled round 'em, the better. Fishers are 
 scary as the pop of a weasel ! The great thing's to make 
 the cubby, then leave it strictly alone!" 
 
 "Wish there were some fishers round here, nearer than 
 way off there. It'd be great to get a big thing like that!" 
 Bob sighed. The fever of the trapper had gotten deep in 
 his blood. He wanted to accomplish everything at once, 
 now he had tasted the joy of the start. 
 
 "Our buck isn't so very small, you know," the younger 
 boy grinned, as he saw that his comrade had almost for- 
 gotten their real mission. "We've still to get him to-day. 
 It would be rare if there were fisher about, but I've never 
 heard of one close by in Edgemont or Providence. Not 
 since father was a boy, anyway. Must be lots in the 
 Welsh Mountains, though. \Ve could easily get over 
 there, if they'd let us mal;e a hunting trip of it sometime.*
 
 THE BEAVER DAM 121 
 
 "That man I spoke of told me how to get 'em. You use 
 a big trap, 'bout the same as we did for the otters. Then 
 you make the cubby and put in the trap. You've got 
 to hitch the chain to a sapling spring pole so that when 
 he's fast, it'll yank him up in the air. Just like that rab- 
 bit loop of ours, only the trap and all goes up with this. 
 It takes a real good sapling with lots of spring. It's hard 
 to find the right kind, he said." 
 
 "Should think it might be! How much does a fisher 
 weigh?" queried Bob. 
 
 "Don't know. Never even saw one." Dave pushed 
 his way through a thicket of alders and began to climb 
 toward the higher ground. "Let's get out of this hollow. 
 It's thick as cheese! Can't see a blessed thing for the 
 fog. We could easily pass by that deer and never know 
 it. How much does a fisher weigh? A good deal, I 
 reckon. Their pelt's as big as all get out! The trick of 
 catching 'em is to lay a long drag with some bait or other 
 a piece of rabbit is what the man used. He said it was 
 still better to put some fox scent or even aniseed on the 
 bait, then pull that along with a strip of rawhide thong 
 behind you. Then you go and make some cubbies, here 
 and there, where you drag the bait. There ought to be a 
 bit of bait in each cubby. The greatest trouble must be 
 to find the right kind of saplings to yank 'em up, I'd 
 think." 
 
 "We'll have to try it, anyway, sometime, just for the 
 fun of it. That laying a drag with more than one cubby 
 along it, sounds pretty good to me." Bob slung his heavy 
 trap and chain over his shoulder. "I say, it was mighty 
 foolish lugging this thing along to-day with the gun and
 
 122 SANDY FLASH 
 
 all, wasn't it? It'll only be in the way, if we ever do come 
 up with the stag. Pretty much like a needle in a hay- 
 stack, finding him in this fog. What's a fisher's tracks 
 look like? Ever see 'em?" 
 
 "Don't know. I never did. But the trapper said they 
 were mighty hard to trail, the fishers themselves were, so 
 I guess they keep their tracks scarce, too. If you ever 
 come on any pine marten where there's lots of spruce 
 trees, why then you'll find the fisher, sure as can be. I 
 know because " 
 
 The boys had climbed up from the cleft of the valley 
 and now saw that they were on one of several bare hills 
 that dropped away in rounded contours as far as the eye 
 could carry through the east wind's shifting haze. The 
 mist had largely cleared away up here, patches of it only 
 still veiling the bottom in fleecy waves of fog. Across the 
 field in which they stood came the melodious baying of a 
 hound. It was that which had brought Dave to a halt, 
 his words unfinished. Luck was with them this day, for 
 sure. The boys scanned the view in all directions. It 
 was blank. 
 
 "That dog's after something, sure as preaching!" Bob 
 spoke. "It's just as apt to be a deer's trail as not." 
 
 "Let's run over and see then. It just might be that 
 buck! This is near where they said they saw him last 
 time, you know. Come along!" Dave broke into a jog 
 trot, Bob Allyn at his side. 
 
 They were right. An old hound was busily working 
 away at the slot of a deer. There was no mistake about 
 that for the cloven hoof marks showed up clearly in the 
 soft snow. And they were large, too. A full-grown stag.
 
 THE BEAVER DAM 123 
 
 The difficulty, however, lay in the fact that the trail was 
 not fresh. The manner in which the dog labored over it 
 soon convinced them that they were wasting their time in 
 depending on his ancient, though laudable, endeavors. 
 The stag had passed that way, but how long before neither 
 lad was clever enough to guess. 
 
 "There's only one thing to do. And do it quick!" 
 Dave passed the hound and hurried on. "That old dog'll 
 spend the day working round here in this one field, yowl- 
 ing and towling along the line for dear life. But he'll 
 never get forward! We've got to run it ourselves, far as 
 it goes in the snow. Maybe it may get clearer by and by. 
 Let's try!" 
 
 "All right. Get to it then!" Bob's powerful stride 
 brought him alongside the smaller boy. Without further 
 word they settled down to what they knew would be the 
 real test of the day a grueling match of endurance and 
 pace. 
 
 It was not hard to follow the slot, but it was hard to 
 keep up the speed that they felt absolutely necessary if 
 they hoped to come within gunshot of the deer before 
 dark. For more than five hours they trudged on, speak- 
 ing little, now climbing to the uplands where they could 
 search the countryside in all directions, again drop- 
 ping with the winding, uncertain trail to the bottom of 
 the little valleys where they could scarcely see a hundred 
 fog-dimmed yards ahead of them. The boys were be- 
 ginning to tire as the winter afternoon came on. Their 
 bread and cheese served to pick them up, however, and 
 they kept right gamely at it, following the hoof marks 
 step by step. The hills, now, were topped a good deal
 
 124 SANDY FLASH 
 
 more slowly than at first, with occasional rests to ease 
 their breathing. The snow, too, seemed a lot more slip- 
 pery and bothersome than it had in the morning. Dave 
 was hardened to walking, thoroughly hardened to it, but 
 he knew another fast climb or two would bring him to 
 going on his nerve alone. It was not so much the dis- 
 tance as it was the pace that was telling. Bob plugged 
 onward stolidly, showing little outward signs of distress, 
 despite the bad going. His good Scotch grit would carry 
 him forward that way till he stopped from exhaustion. 
 
 Luck came to them as they slumped downward toward 
 a little glade where the mist swirls played among the 
 green spires of a cedar thicket. Indeed, it was the cover 
 of the fog that helped them, for both boys were long since 
 too weary for much thought of woodcraft. The stag had 
 been resting and feeding here since early morning. Now 
 the sound of approaching steps sent him bounding through 
 the cover with a slither of falling snow behind him, as 
 the cedar boughs swung wide to give him passage. The 
 boys forgot the miles they had covered and sprang for- 
 ward on the instant, guns in readiness. Now was the 
 time for skill. 
 
 "I say! It's him!" Bob sank on one knee, forgetful 
 of grammar, as he whispered to Dave, and motioned with 
 his gun barrel. "We're up to him at last. We've got to 
 stalk now for a shot! Who'd have thought we'd ever " 
 
 "Hush! Be still, can't you!" Dave's hard grip on 
 the other's arm made him wince. "He must have been in 
 there eating! We're close to him still, I think. Listen! 
 Let's one of us try for a shot from the other end of the
 
 THE BEAVER DAM 125 
 
 hollow where he'll come out! He's got to go that way, 
 you know." 
 
 In whispers that choked with excitement, they made 
 their arrangements. Dave, it was agreed, as the more 
 skilled of the two in woodcraft, had best slip round the 
 copse and take up a position at the glade's end, while Bob 
 would work straight through the thicket. If he got a 
 view he was to fire. Otherwise, his stalk would serve, at 
 least, to keep the deer on the move toward his friend's 
 hidden point of vantage below. There was little time to 
 do more or to make further study of the lay of the land. 
 This was a serious handicap, as both boys had no idea at 
 all where they were. They did have knowledge enough 
 of the country, however, to understand that the glen must 
 needs open on the larger valley somewhere to the south. 
 
 Silently as they could step, they parted, Bob to wait 
 for a reasonable time, Dave to swing round the western 
 border of the coppice. Luckily for the boy, the wind, 
 such as penetrated the sheltered ravine, came from the 
 stag toward him. The ground broke away sharply here 
 from the rolling upland hills to the north and west on 
 which they had been tramping all day. Had he but known 
 it, he was in the hollow through which Crum Creek flowed 
 south toward Castle Rock. The boy, hampered by the 
 fog, and the new angle from which he was approaching 
 the open valley of the Strasburg Road, had not the very 
 vaguest idea of his whereabouts. He knew what he was 
 trying to do, though, and he made such fair speed at it 
 that he came to the end of the glade before the stag had 
 broken cover to a view.
 
 126 SANDY FLASH 
 
 The deer, alarmed by the first disturbing approach of 
 the lads, had soon grown calm again and, on hearing noth- 
 ing further, had begun to browse along the side of the 
 creek. By and by, it grew uneasy as instinct still whis- 
 pered that something was wrong within danger distance 
 of its shelter. The kingly animal ceased lipping at sap- 
 ling shoots, mildly alarmed, and froze to an image of 
 tense grace. Only its sensitive nostrils twitched as they 
 stretched wide, quivering to test each strand of scent that 
 came to them on the quiet air. Then the glorious head 
 went round and he turned till he had proved the breeze 
 in every quarter. It told him nothing. Yet he was not 
 satisfied. Something was wrong and he knew it. It came 
 to his brain sharp and insistent, not to be ignored, through 
 some forgotten sense that humans have long since lost. 
 He caught, ever so faint and far away, the deep baying of 
 the old hound, still worrying along the trail that the boys 
 had followed. That gave him no concern at all. 
 
 Unable to locate the danger, but none the less acutely 
 aware of it, the stately creature blew his nostrils clear at 
 last and stepped daintily down the hollow. He would not 
 hurry his pace, but he would move along till that uneasy 
 feeling left him. So it was that by the time he approached 
 the end of the coppice, Dave had been able to conceal 
 himself behind a clump of cedars in readiness for a shot. 
 The boy was so excited, as he waited prone on the snow, 
 that he could scarcely pour the priming powder in his 
 flintlock's pan. 
 
 Further to the north, Bob had crouched, unmoved and 
 stiff, as long as he could control his impatience, then he
 
 THE BEAVER DAM 127 
 
 had risen and begun to slip from tree to tree, eyes leaping 
 down the vistas ahead of him. He made no attempt to 
 follow the tracks, for the stag had wandered about as he 
 nibbled until the slotted cover looked like a maze. All 
 the boy hoped for was a view within gunshot. He had the 
 vantage of wind on his left quarter, so need not fear be- 
 trayal there. The mist eddies bothered him provokingly, 
 for they seemed to hang heavily like a blind among the 
 close-growing patches of cedar. The lad had loaded and 
 primed his gun like a good woodsman, while waiting for 
 Dave to get to place. 
 
 The stag hunt ended in a manner that was startling, 
 though it came to each boy in a different way. Bob viewed 
 just as the buck crossed an open glade far ahead. The 
 animal had paused there before venturing out into the 
 meadowland of the valley beyond. The tall lad swung up 
 his gun, steadied the stock to his cheek with a reassuring 
 cuddle, played the sights a moment till they rested in line 
 behind the stag's shoulder where he wanted them, then, 
 bracing himself on widespread feet, he squeezed off the 
 trigger, too keen a sportsman to jerk it even in the stress 
 of firing at such a splendid target. Flint struck steel with 
 scratching click and fat sparks flamed to the firing pan, 
 but the powder did not flash. The instant the boy had 
 raised his arm, a puff of wind had soughed down the hol- 
 low and the cedars had swayed gently in answer to it, 
 shaking little snowslides from their boughs. A pinch of 
 clustering flakes, tobogganing downward, came to rest 
 full upon the priming of the flintlock a second before the 
 spark could ignite it. Bob dropped the gun to the crook
 
 128 SANDY FLASH 
 
 of his arm with a mutter of anger and disgust while he 
 tore at the stopper of his powder flask. The boy's face 
 went white with the disappointment of it. 
 
 By the time he had reprimed, the stag had gone from 
 view. There was nothing for it now, but wait till the 
 sound of Dave's shot should reassure him. To run for- 
 ward seeking a second try would mean the spoiling of his 
 comrade's chances. Further, it would tend to bring him 
 into his line of fire. Bob wisely stayed where he was, 
 peering toward the opening in the trees. Of deer or Dave 
 he caught no trace. 
 
 As a matter of fact, a moment before the stag had 
 paced to the covert's edge and paused to choose his line 
 across the fields, Dave's mind had turned from thoughts 
 of hunting with a suddenness that he had never before 
 experienced. A hand laid on his shoulder set him rigid 
 in dumb surprise, a surprise all the more painful in that 
 his every instinct had been keyed to mark the buck's ap- 
 pearance. A pistol at his head quickly turned his aston- 
 ishment to bewilderment and terror. Indeed, it paralyzed 
 him completely. The sudden shock of the thing held him 
 motionless, his heart contracting with stabs of pain, his 
 skin prickling hotly, as he sucked in his breath. That 
 was the natural physical reaction to the unexpectedness 
 of it. Dave was brave as the next, but he had a human 
 body and it functioned as suqh. An instant of real tor- 
 ture, and the boy's brain began to register once more, as 
 the quickening blood flooded back. He turned his head, 
 rolling sideways, to see, from where he had been lying in 
 the snow. For a wild instant, he had guessed at a joke, 
 but now he knew he was in mortal danger.
 
 THE BEAVER DAM 129 
 
 "Not a peep from ye!" A jab that hurt accompanied 
 the whisper and the pistol muzzle poked savagely in his 
 rib. "If ye lift so much as a sound, I'll drill ye to a 
 sieve! Stand up an' do as I tell ye. That's it!" 
 
 Dave did so. He was afraid now, terribly afraid, but 
 he was no coward. He was a lot more self-possessed, ac- 
 tually, than his captor gave him credit for. The boy had 
 wit enough to keep his head and to see the folly of re- 
 sistance. He was fairly trapped and in the man's power, 
 whoever he might be. The only game left for him to play 
 was one of instant compliance. Besides, there was Bob 
 Bob still unwarned in the covert. That settled it. He 
 would obey orders and give no hint of his comrade's 
 presence. The matter of his own escape could come later, 
 when they had gotten a bit away from the neighborhood 
 of the unsuspecting Bob. 
 
 Led by the man, the pistol ever nudging his side, Dave 
 slipped back into a dense thicket. Its screen had served 
 to hide the former's stealthy approach when he had stalked 
 in upon him, as the lad lay on the ground, every sense 
 quivering in anticipation of the stag. The cedars swung 
 close, as they passed and climbed the bank. That was all. 
 
 The whole thing had not taken more than a minute. 
 The stag had leaped away toward the open bottoms when 
 the boy and man had first moved, but otherwise the cov- 
 ert's end was as before. 
 
 In the meantime, Bob, at the other end of the wood, 
 was calm as usual, though the mishap with his priming 
 had rendered him bitterly angry. That, and the excite- 
 ment of the chase, finally wore down even the Scotch pa- 
 tience of the lad. Would Dave never fire? What in the
 
 i 3 o SANDY FLASH 
 
 world was the matter with him, anyway? It probably was 
 five minutes, but it seemed like an hour to the uneasy 
 boy, when he could stand it no longer. Springing to his 
 feet, he made way down the glen, heading straight for the 
 opening where he last had seen the deer. This was dan- 
 gerous in view of his companion's position, but Bob was 
 too impatient to think of that and too untrained a woods- 
 man to appreciate the risk. 
 
 It was at a point halfway down the hollow that fate 
 took a hand in the lives of both boys. Bob stumbled. 
 Had he not stepped on the bit of stone that rolled away 
 so provokingly beneath him, he must have kept on and 
 found at once the telltale tracks where his comrade had 
 gone into the thicket at the point of his captor's pistol a 
 few moments before. As fate arranged it, however, Bob 
 did step on that wobbling bit of stone and he did stumble 
 for fair, bringing up on hands and knees with a bruising 
 jolt. The large trap he carried swung round in the fall 
 and welted his leg a crack that he remembered for many 
 a day. Then he first saw the water, a broad gleam of it, 
 and the ice, through the trees, with a silvery mist float- 
 ing close above it. 
 
 To his left, visible under the low-hanging cedar limbs, 
 ran Crum Creek. He would have passed it by unwittingly 
 had he not fallen just where he did. As he hopped about 
 on one foot, rubbing his leg, the sheen of the water, cou- 
 pled with the sting of the scratch, recalled the purpose for 
 which he had been lugging the trap about with him all day. 
 Dave must have seen the deer and withheld his fire for 
 some good reason, Bob hazarded a reassuring guess. No 
 doubt a shot would whang out at any moment now down
 
 below. Meanwhile, he would steal a march on his trap- 
 ping chum by looking at the pond, for pond it surely was. 
 That meant muskrat or beaver. Bob grinned in delight 
 and forgot the pain on his shin. Vividly he recalled what 
 Dave had once told him of the value of a good beaver pelt 
 a prime skin. Chuckling to himself, he limped to the 
 water's edge. 
 
 "This is a find! The greatest bit of luck I've ever 
 had ! I say ! This'll make good old Dave wink green for 
 envy! I might get one, at that, if only they're here 
 beaver 'stead of rats. That'd mean something for the 
 soldiers, all right, if I could sell it for all it's really worth 
 in silver!" 
 
 Bob did not know a great deal about trapping, but he 
 had taken in everything that his chum had told him dur- 
 ing the last few weeks and he remembered enough of it 
 to recognize a beaver sign when he saw it. The pond was 
 not a disappointment, nor was it anything to become es- 
 pecially elated over. The dam was there and it was the 
 work of beaver. A glance at the make of it and at the 
 chewed-off ends of the logs proved him that conclusively. 
 Also, that it was a long-established one, although the 
 slides or runways by which the tireless workers had 
 floated their timber to the dam breast were still in evi- 
 dence. Here and there a gnawed stump stood in mute wit- 
 ness of their work. Bob noticed subconsciously that the 
 birch trees, what few of them there were, had suffered 
 more than any other kind. Beavers everywhere seem to 
 single out these trees to gnaw upon. Their tooth marks 
 shov/ed up very clearly like the bites of a wood-carver's 
 chisel.
 
 132 SANDY FLASH 
 
 Eagerly Bob quartered the pond's edges for tracks, but 
 he could not find any that he was sure of. Had he been 
 skilful enough to locate them, the big lad would have been 
 surprised at the resemblance they bore to the familiar 
 tracks of a muskrat. Very much larger, of course, yet 
 the shape is much the same, though the beaver shows but 
 four toes. The front feet are webbed and register this in 
 the print they make in the mud. 
 
 Bob sat down on a convenient stump to lay his plans. 
 He did not waste much time about it. Beaver had 
 dammed the pond and dug the runways; they had chewed 
 down the trees and barked the birch saplings. Even 
 without tracks they might still be there, as the melting 
 snow might well have destroyed fresh marks. He would 
 make the set and leave the rest to luck. Recalling what 
 Dave had told him, he chose the largest log slide, one 
 that looked as if it might be still in use, and put his trap 
 at the foot of it. The thaw had melted the ice at a 
 point where the slide emptied into the pond, so that he 
 had no trouble whatever in setting it there about six 
 or seven inches under water. He knew beaver were 
 always pottering about their dams and getting down new 
 logs to reinforce it. This was the best spot to try. 
 
 Bob next cast about for a stout stick to fasten his 
 chain to. He had been warned by Dave that beaver 
 would chew themselves free from anything green or from 
 wood that rose above the surface. Having found the 
 dry kind of wood he wanted, Bob staked the chain to 
 it securely and drove it under water. It was a hard 
 thing to do without falling in himself, but he finally suc- 
 ceeded, perched precariously on the bank. He regretted
 
 THE BEAVER DAM 133 
 
 that he did not have a much longer chain, for with it 
 he could have made the trap fast to a log that lay tempt- 
 ingly out in the pond six or seven feet away. Then it 
 would have been a simple matter to have weighted the 
 bed-piece of his trap with a stone tied to it and to have 
 set the thing on the log. A bit of popple or a birch branch 
 laid above it would have served as bait. Had he only 
 been able to do this, his chances of luck would have been 
 vastly better, for the snared beaver, granting he caught 
 one, would have dived from the log the instant the trap 
 snapped upon its foot. The weighted set would have done 
 the rest. And speedily. Bob sighed. It is hard to know 
 how to do a thing better, then have to let a second-rate 
 makeshift serve. At that, he had done a finer job of 
 trapping than he gave himself credit for. Even Dave 
 would have had to admit that, if he had been there to 
 see it. 
 
 With a last look at the trap in the log slide, the boy 
 picked up his heavy flintlock. It was high time he 
 had hurried on to find what had become of his comrade. 
 And of the stag as well. It did not take him long to 
 see that something must have gone wrong. The tracks 
 at the cover's edge were clear enough. Bob dropped 
 the butt of his gun and leaned upon the long barrel, 
 as he frowned over them. He saw where Dave had 
 crept forward to the screen of the little bush patch. 
 He saw the other footprints deep cut in the snow. He 
 read the trace of Dave's getting up and walking back 
 toward the cedars that veiled the slope of the hollow. 
 Any suspicion of a struggle was farthest from the boy's 
 mind, as he noted the undisturbed marks. Some one
 
 134 SANDY FLASH 
 
 had evidently joined his chum and they had gone off 
 together. Perhaps, it was 
 
 Bob Allyn straightened with a start, as a voice rasped 
 from the bushes near him. 
 
 "Drop that gun where ye stand! An' drop it soon! 
 Ye're covered 1 Put up yer hands!" 
 
 Quicker than voice could carry or brain could act, 
 Bob's eyes flashed from the tracks at his feet to the 
 bank above. He saw a motionless form bulking large 
 against the green, he saw the leveled muzzle of a pistol 
 sloping toward him from the cedars. His brain pictured 
 vividly; he knew he was trapped, but it was beyond the 
 man and behind him that the boy's gaze held itself in 
 helpless, incredulous horror. Bob's breath came short 
 between his teeth, as he gulped and cried out: 
 
 "Dave, oh, I" 
 
 Then, without a thought, not knowing what he did, 
 the lad swung up his gun and sprang blindly toward the 
 slope straight for the point where the threatening pistol 
 flashed as flint struck steel.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 THE CAVE 
 
 WHEN Bob Allyn had whipped up his weapon and 
 jumped for the bank, he had acted solely on im- 
 pulse, although hi a dim way he seemed to sense that 
 he could not fire. Behind the man at the edge of the 
 cedars lay his chum, prone upon the ground. Any bullet 
 from Bob's gun, were it to miss its mark or were it not 
 to stop in the man's body, needs must go on straight for 
 the fallen lad. The sight of Dave had spurred Bob to 
 instant action, with wit enough left to hold his fire. In 
 answer to his leap came the flash and whang of the pistol, 
 as the man discharged the leveled piece. He was Mor- 
 decai Dougherty, Sandy Flash's yoke-fellow in crime. 
 That the bullet did not lodge in the boy's brain was due 
 to no fault in his aim or intention. Dougherty had done 
 his best to kill the lad, but squeezed his trigger an instant 
 too late. As he had fired, the barrel had been knocked 
 sideways in his grasp by a quick blow of a cudgel. 
 Flash himself had leaped to view from behind the cedars. 
 "Damn your eyes! Do as ye're told for onct, can't 
 ye!" Flash cried out as he swung back his heavy stick 
 and stood facing Mordecai. Both men were fairly quiv- 
 ering with rage. For the barest fraction of time it looked 
 as though the outlaw chief were out of hand and on the 
 point of striking his accomplice. Hot wrath flared quick 
 
 135
 
 136 SANDY FLASH 
 
 in the flush of his face and showed in the set of his angry 
 lips. Then he turned away with a jerk of the head and 
 cursed as he sprang down the slope toward Bob. 
 
 The lad had seen the flame of Dougherty's pistol, but 
 he had leaped already and could not stop. An instant 
 later the sear of the bullet burned across his shoulder, 
 as though some one had hit him, hit him suddenly and 
 hard, with a club. The heavy lead pellet, low in velocity, 
 large in size as a slug, merely grazed the flesh of the 
 boy's right arm at the shoulder, but such was the force 
 of the blow that it swung him round completely on his 
 feet and bowled him over. As he fell, he dropped his 
 gun, reaching instinctively with the other hand to cover 
 the wound. Before he had stopped rolling, Sandy Flash 
 had snatched the flintlock from the ground, slung it up 
 the bank toward Dougherty and caught hold of Bob's 
 coat. The wrench of it nearly forced a scream from the 
 wounded boy. 
 
 "Where're ye hit? Serves ye right for runnin' into a 
 gun that a-way, ye blind fool! Sit up!" 
 
 Dragging the half-conscious boy roughly forward, 
 propped against his knee, the highwayman tore open Bob's 
 coat and bloody shirt, exposing a welt that traced the 
 course of the bullet. He ran his finger cruelly down 
 the raw wound, then moved back, letting Bob fall over 
 suddenly. 
 
 "Reckon that won't be the death of ye, me hearty. 
 More scared than anything else. Hey, Mort, hog-tie 
 this one 'fore he comes round, will ye? Then we'll have 
 the pair of 'em where we want 'em. Eh? Gasps like a 
 Brandywine bass, by the Lord ! " Flash's anger had died
 
 THE CAVE 137 
 
 away as quickly as it had flamed to the surface, once 
 he saw the boy had not been killed. It was not so with 
 Mordecai. 
 
 Bob had never fully lost consciousness, although the 
 shock of the bullet had paralyzed him for the time being. 
 He knew he was hit. He knew he was falling. That 
 was all he did know clearly till the jab of the outlaw's 
 finger burned the open wound like a red-hot poker and 
 made him pant with pain. The jolt of tumbling back- 
 ward on the ground served to bring him round entirely. 
 The boy's shoulder scratch amounted to little in spite of 
 the anguish and the flow of blood. As soon as he had 
 gotten himself in hand from the shock, he was able to 
 take in what was going on about him. 
 
 Mordecai Dougherty, livid as a thunder cloud, slid 
 down the bank. He had wanted to shoot the boy, once 
 and for all, and he had done his best to do it, in spite 
 of the orders he had received from his superior. Now 
 he had lost the chance, though everything had been set 
 in his favor, when Bob had failed to drop his gun. The 
 man was sullen enough at best, but his leader's burst 
 of anger had stirred the lowest depths of his nature till 
 his brutish face set white with the fires of smoldering 
 rage within. Disappointment, black temper and a sly 
 cunning showed all too plainly in the twist of the scoun- 
 drel's mouth and in his shifty eyes, as he bent over the 
 boy. 
 
 C T11 larn ye to know a pistol's end from a chestnut 
 bur!" He rolled the unresisting lad on his face with 
 a sudden kick of his heavy boot. Then, with a wrench 
 that brought a cry of agony from Bob's lips, he whipped
 
 i 3 8 SANDY FLASH 
 
 the boy's hands together behind his back and made them 
 fast there with a turn of dirty rag. 
 
 The torture for an instant was almost more than the 
 lad could bear, when the first stretch of the shoulder 
 pulled the tendons beneath the seared flesh, but it was 
 only that sudden stabbing dart of pain that wrung a 
 hint of weakness from him. After that, Bob lay as the 
 man had kicked him, face downward in the snow, while 
 his wrists were knotted securely. He made no effort 
 to cry out. Indeed, the shock of the wound had left 
 him too dazed and helpless. The boy moaned a little 
 from time to time, as Mordecai yanked heartlessly at 
 the wounded arm. Once the tall lad almost choked, as 
 he swallowed a mouthful of snow in a gasp for breath. 
 A last savage pull at the fastenings and the man had 
 done. He pushed Bob over on his side, regardless of 
 the bleeding wound that dyed the trampled surface of 
 the snow a fiery crimson. 
 
 "There ye be! An' there ye'll stay! Now, how does 
 it feel to be in a trap?" Dougherty laughed in rasping 
 sarcasm. "Ain't so pleasant some ways as a feather 
 bed, they do say." He stood up. The laugh turned 
 to a scowl, as he spied Flash bending over the other 
 prisoner some distance off. "Yer rotten foolin' with 
 these fellers'll be the end of us yit. Wot the deuce, I 
 sez! The chanct I had an' then ye ruinin' it, ye chicken 
 livered " The epithet between the man's teeth was so 
 unspeakably vile that had he heard it, even Sandy Flash 
 could not have let it go unchallenged. Dougherty knew 
 his chief, however, and took good care to hold his mut- 
 tered curses under breath.
 
 THE CAVE 139 
 
 "All right, Mort." Sandy Flash swung round. 
 "Ready? Gotten him tied to suit? Can he walk?" 
 
 "Sure he can that, the pulin' baby. It's but the prick 
 of a pin wot he's got at all." The man shoved the boy 
 with his foot, but not so much as a moan came from 
 Bob's gritted teeth. The boy was himself now and game, 
 fighting with his last ounce of strength to play the man. 
 Had it not been for the sucking gasps for breath that 
 racked him, one could not tell that he was in pain at all. 
 
 "This one here," Sandy Flash motioned toward Dave, 
 "is all quiet. Right as a pickle! Ain't got the spunk 
 of the big feller, though, or he might of raised a rumpus, 
 too, when we nabbed him. He never so much as lifted 
 finger!" 
 
 "Speakin' o' that, it seems to me he nearly bit the 
 thumb off ye, Cap'n, wotever the lamb was doin', when 
 ye started to put the gag to him. Ha! hal Ye let go 
 quick enough!" 
 
 Sandy Flash ignored the laugh. Reaching down with 
 a mighty heave he yanked Dave to his feet. The lad's 
 arms were tied like his chum's behind his back and a 
 gag had been placed in his mouth by the ready expedient 
 of a stick set fast against his jaws, forcing them open 
 in a strained uncomfortable way. Still he could breathe 
 all right. Sandy ripped loose the knot that tied his feet. 
 
 "Put the silencer on your beauty, too, Mort, an' come 
 along. No more shootin', mind ye, an' raisin' the coun- 
 tryside. Ye needn't be killin' the lad in the bargain, 
 with that rip in him." The outlaw glanced at the cut 
 as the boy lay on the ground. The bleeding had nearly 
 stopped, but the wound looked cruelly painful for all
 
 i 4 o SANDY FLASH 
 
 its slight penetration. "Gag him an' come on. An' stop 
 that maulin' of him. I'll not tell ye so again." 
 
 "Wot the " Mordecai broke off, thinking the better 
 of it. "Right ye be, Cap'n, right ye be! This here bird's 
 ready now, soon as ever I makes sure he won't be warblin' 
 no pretty ditties fer to call out the folks, onct we begins 
 to move. Open yer jaws, sweety, an' try chawin' on this 
 here candy stick! 'Tis a lollypop fer to tickle yer 
 tongue ! " 
 
 The man rolled Bob over on his back and forced his 
 mouth wide by a sudden jabbing of his thumb and fore- 
 finger against the boy's cheeks. Before he could close 
 it again, Mordecai had set a piece of wood, bit-like, be- 
 tween the jaws and tied it there. Then he pulled Bob 
 to his feet, steadying the wounded lad till he had gotten 
 over the star-shot dizziness that swept before his eyes. 
 The outlaw replaced the ripped coat upon the cut and 
 turned toward the slope where Flash was waiting. 
 
 "Forward ho! Cap'n Fitz! I'll folly on. We've a 
 mighty open bit o' goin' fer to cover, it strikes me, 'fore 
 ever we comes to that there palace of our'n on the Castle 
 Rock." Dougherty held fast to Bob's arm and pushed 
 him up the bank. "I've got this un's gun. Will ye lug 
 the other?" 
 
 "All right. The light'll help us." Sandy Flash glanced 
 about, noting the quick deepening of twilight shadows 
 in the glade, as the winter day drew on to dusk. "In 
 half an hour ye couldn't see your granny's belted cow, 
 not for the lookin'. We'll hide a bit at the road and 
 cross when it's darker. Eh, Mort, me hearty, ye can rest
 
 THE CAVE 141 
 
 ye merry this night! It took a long wait to get 'em, 
 but now we've nabbed the pair of 'em and " 
 
 "Wot good on earth will that do us, I likes to know?" 
 Mordecai shook his head. 
 
 "Wait an' ye'll see soon enough, me doubtin' Thomas. 
 Ye haven't mislaid the gold an' the feller who's to ride 
 past with it, have ye?" 
 
 "Wot's that got to do with this here brace o' bucks? 
 They ain't got a brass farthing apiece." 
 
 "They're not goin' to have any chanct, one way or 
 t'other, to spoil the broth, what with their trappin' an' 
 ;wanderin' about the whole place day an' night. That's 
 what! Runnin' into what don't concern 'em! That's 
 why we've gotten 'em. An' trouble enough I've had to 
 do it, small thanks to ye. After we're through an' gotten 
 the gold put where we want it, why, then it'll be time an' 
 plenty to finish with these here. Ye know what I was 
 tellin' ye in the cave tother day?" 
 
 "Why not now, then, seein' as we've gotten 'em safe 
 an' sound, an' one of 'em half shot in the bargain? Say, 
 Cap'n, wot's the use o' runnin' more risks than need? 
 Let me have 'em half a jiffy, an' ye'll not hear the squeal 
 of a pig, so much, from the pair of 'em!" Dougherty 
 motioned toward his leg where the haft of his dirk pro- 
 truded from the top of the woolen stocking. 
 
 "Mort, me beauty, ye've not got the brains of a calf, 
 for all your bloody blatherin'. It'd do us no good to 
 murder the brats. They're more ways o' killin' a cat, 
 they say, than chokin' it with cream!" Sandy laughed. 
 It was not a nice sound to hear.
 
 i 4 2 SANDY FLASH 
 
 Dougherty half turned and looked at him curiously. 
 
 A few moments later the little group began its march 
 toward the crossing of the Strasburg Road and the height 
 of Castle Rock. The shadows had already lengthened 
 till the bowl of Crum Creek Valley lay filled with a con- 
 fusing play of light, golden and violet and dark to the 
 color of purple asters against the sweep of the snow. 
 The men walked rapidly, keeping close to the west bank 
 of the brook, where the gloom of alders and willow 
 trunks gave shelter to their passing. Twenty minutes 
 after they had left the cedar glen, they were climbing 
 Castle Rock. 
 
 Bob was in a bad way, what with the shock of the 
 wound and the manhandling he had received from Dough- 
 erty, but the big lad got no pity from either of his 
 captors as they dragged him along. Dave was far better 
 off. He had not been tied so roughly and he had had 
 a chance to collect his thoughts. The boy had listened 
 to everything that was said by the men. He had no 
 vague idea to what they referred when they spoke of 
 the rider and the gold, but he understood clearly enough 
 that some villainy was afoot. 
 
 One thing was especially clear. He must devise a 
 way of making good his escape with Bob before the men 
 could come to an agreement as to what they should do 
 with them. From the little he had seen of Dougherty's 
 heartless savagery and Flash's veiled threats, the sooner 
 they were out of their hands the better it would be. 
 Haste was urgent. At the same time, he felt that he 
 ought to learn something more of the devil's scheme his 
 captors were plotting. That it was of considerable mo-
 
 THE CAVE 143 
 
 ment, there could be no doubt. The boy knew much 
 depended on him and his chum. The realization of their 
 responsibility seemed to awaken his latent mother-wit 
 
 Dave had given up without a fight, when Sandy Flash 
 had surprised him waiting for the stag. He had sub- 
 mitted tamely to being tied, because he thought that by 
 so doing he was giving Bob a chance at escape. It was 
 only when he found out too late that the men were 
 in ambush for his comrade, as well, that the boy made 
 a last desperate attempt to struggle, to cry out in warn- 
 ing. Then it was that he had bitten at the outlaw's 
 hand as the gag was crammed into his mouth. Dave 
 reproached himself with all the bitterness that a boy 
 is capable of when he realized that he had failed in 
 the one thing he had tried hardest to do. He was human 
 enough to fear what Bob might think. The older boy 
 had not hesitated. He had leaped forward in the face 
 of a pointed pistol, when he saw his friend in trouble. 
 He had been shot. But Dave what had he done in the 
 crisis? Meekly given up and let his chum walk unwarned 
 into the trap! The lad tortured himself unmercifully 
 with self-reproach and contempt. He must make good 
 now to redeem himself in the eyes of his friend. It 
 were better to die in the effort and have done with it 
 than let Bob think he had failed him so miserably and 
 played the coward. 
 
 Once the men had reached the top of Castle Rock, 
 they lost no time in getting their prisoners into the cave. 
 A light was made and the boys were ungagged. Sandy 
 Flash slit the bonds that bound their arms. While 
 Pave swung his to and fro, trying to get some circula-
 
 144 SANDY FLASH 
 
 tion in them, Bob nursed his shoulder. The wound had 
 stiffened and made him wince at every motion. Dave 
 turned toward his chum. He could not endure the re- 
 proach of another moment's silence. 
 
 "Bob I you know I didn't I tried" The words 
 would not come from the lad's lips as he saw the blood- 
 soaked shirt and the torn coat of homespun beneath the 
 older boy's hand. "Can't I fix it up a little? I say oh, 
 Bob, you mustn't think I went and let 'em get you! I 
 never thought they were still in wait till it was too late 
 to warn you." 
 
 "It isn't a thing. Just a scratch. What's the matter, 
 Davey? I'll be all right in a jiffy. It's a bit sore and 
 stiff, that's all. Honest!" 
 
 Sandy Flash came over to where the boys were talking. 
 He held in his hands an old-fashioned pair of leg irons, 
 clumsy and heavily wrought. A rusty chain rattled from 
 them. 
 
 "This'll hold ye quiet in our little nest, me hearties! 
 Now just one word. Mind, it's the last, so be wise an* 
 take it in. Ye're here to stay till I see fit to let ye go. 
 Understand? If ye lift a finger to get away, I'll not 
 touch ye, but " He nodded across the gloomy cavern 
 to where Mordecai was working over the fire, amid the 
 flickering red of the shadows, like some giant of the 
 olden time. "But he will! Ye've seen what a gentle 
 fellow he is. You have anyway, me big buck." Sandy 
 Flash eyed Bob appraisingly. "That's where we stand. 
 Do as I say an' the friend yonder will not touch ye. 
 But if ye don't, why Clear, is it? Well, then, out
 
 THE CAVE 145 
 
 with a leg apiece. That old sheriff in Newlin had only 
 a pair o' these when I lightened him of his stuff, but I 
 reckon they'll do for two, as well as for one." 
 
 The irons rasped apart with a creak as the rusted 
 jaws were pulled, but they were serviceable enough and 
 tough withal. The metal clicked ominously as it closed 
 about Dave's left leg. Sandy Flash pushed aside Bob's 
 right foot and clipped the band about the left ankle with 
 a savage jerk. The chain was half a foot long, com- 
 pelling the lads to stay close together side by side. 
 
 "How's that, Mort?" Sandy laughed, as the other 
 came over to see. "I've got 'em both by the left foot, 
 so that when they stand up one faces one way an' one 
 the tother! Not run far away that a-way, I reckon, less 
 they want to turn into a merry-go-round-the-Maypole ! 
 They can lie down all right, too. Now then, let's get a 
 bite to eat an' a bit of heat in this frozen hole, while 
 the lads stay neatly hobbled on their picket line!" 
 
 He crossed the cavern and began to work over the 
 fire, while Dougherty busied himself with the meal. It 
 did not give promise of being a sumptuous one. 
 
 In a moment, however, the leader came back to where 
 Bob sat shivering on the floor. He had with him a small 
 firkin of water that had been warming over the sticks 
 on the hearth. 
 
 "Boy, ye'd better wash out that cut a bit. Here's some 
 water an' a dry rag to tie it up with." The man spoke 
 almost kindly. It was one of the shifts that made his 
 character such a web of contrast. A few moments before 
 he had been planning unspeakable abuses to force the
 
 i 4 6 SANDY FLASH 
 
 boys to his will. Now he had veered round and fetched 
 the bandage. Dougherty shook his head and muttered 
 to himself. He could make nothing of his chief. 
 
 Dave took the little jug of water before Bob could 
 reach for it. Then without more ado he pulled back 
 his comrade's clothing and began to wash the wound 
 with the cloth. This done, he tied it up as best he could. 
 At all events he felt it might keep some dirt from the 
 ripped flesh. Last of all he fixed the arm in a rude 
 sort of sling made from his own neckerchief. Bob helped 
 him clumsily, wincing from pain, as the arm was moved. 
 The slug had seared its way considerably deeper than 
 at first appeared. 
 
 "Thanks, Dave, a lot. I say! That's fine! You're 
 handy as can be regular medico! It feels a lot better 
 already. Really, it does! Let's pull that blanket over 
 us now and try keep warm. The fire's making this place 
 pretty decent." 
 
 Dave began to explain once more his action earlier 
 in the day. The boy's conscience would give him no 
 rest and the less Bob said of it, the more the younger 
 boy felt that he had well deserved his chum's contempt. 
 However, he stopped finally, when he saw that Bob 
 understood what had occurred. 
 
 "I say! Don't go on like a fool, Davey. Please don't! 
 I knew you couldn't help it. We've got to get out of 
 this mess. And pretty quick, too, it seems to me." He 
 lowered his voice. "Let's think of that now. This thing's 
 beginning to look mighty serious for us." 
 
 It was a good deal easier, however, to whisper of escape 
 than to carry it out. For over an hour the lads lay
 
 THE CAVE 147 
 
 huddled up in their blanket, trying to keep some warmth 
 between them, while they whispered in low tones. When 
 the men had made ready the meal, the boys were given 
 a share of it, such as it was. Not much, but it served 
 to cheer them in a surprising fashion, for they had feared 
 they might not get even a taste of it. Bob sat back 
 against the wall with a boylike sigh of content, chewing 
 away at a hunk of stewed rabbit. Little did he fancy 
 that it had come from their own snare by Ridley and 
 the men did not bother enlightening him. Finally the 
 lad's mind, wearied with thinking of the predicament 
 they were in, turned back to the beaver dam and he told 
 Dave briefly of the set he had made there just before 
 being captured. The story filled the young trapper with 
 delight. After all, they would get away from the cave 
 some way, some time. No good could come from vain 
 worry. Dave grinned, present dangers slipping from him, 
 in a flood of enthusiasm for his favorite sport. 
 
 "Oh, that's great, Bob! You set it well, too. Was 
 there very much ice? If it " 
 
 "Not so much." Bob touched gingerly at his shoulder. 
 "Some, though, out in the middle." 
 
 "If there's ice, the way they try for 'em is to cut a 
 wee hole in it just over where the water's about fifteen 
 or twenty inches deep. Then they go and put the trap 
 through it on the bottom, right under the hole, you 
 know, and cover the opening up with some snow to pre- 
 vent it freezing solid again. The beavers see the hole 
 by the light coming through it and they come near then 
 to breathe. That makes 'em step on the trap as they 
 are reaching up."
 
 148 SANDY FLASH 
 
 "It's about the cleverest thing I've heard tell of yet 
 in the trapping line!" Bob's voice was low but full of 
 enthusiasm. "That's a pippin, Davey! If we ever get 
 out of here, we'll try it. I wish to goodness I knew how 
 we could get out." 
 
 "Yes, so do I." Dave went on with his description. 
 "And it works as well as any, they say, too, that ice set 
 does. My! If we could only get a beaver, it'd help us 
 more'n anything else, most. And we could use the oil 
 they have. It's great to smear on traps to hide the man 
 scent. Father used to get 'em when he was a boy in 
 Valley Creek, near St. Peter's, Whiteland. There's a 
 great place there, close by Cedar Hollow. He made a 
 kind of ointment out of it, father used to. I've often 
 heard him tell it and how he went and caught 'em through 
 the ice." 
 
 "I never knew beaver had that scent." Bob hitched 
 the blanket about his shoulders. "Did you ever see one 
 skinned?" 
 
 "No, I never did, but all the old trappers use it just 
 the same. Another way father got 'em, when he trapped, 
 was to put his set at the entrance to their houses under 
 the water. You can see their mounds sometimes, like 
 muskrat dens, only bigger, in the dams they build. 
 They're most of all like rmiskrats anyway, eating bark 
 from trees and chewing yellow pond lilies and things 
 like that. Then they store stuff up to beat all! That's 
 why they're so hard at work all the while getting ready 
 for winter laying in fodder like we fill bins and hay 
 mows! Father's seen 'em at it many a time." 
 
 At the mention of Hugh Thomas, Bob suddenly recalled
 
 THE CAVE 149 
 
 with a start that he had promised his own father to 
 be home in good time that evening, if such a thing could 
 be managed after the long day's hunt. Until this moment, 
 his mind had been so filled with trapping and the pre- 
 dicament he and his chum were in that no thought of 
 home had entered. He stirred uneasily beneath the 
 blanket. 
 
 "I say, Dave, I've just remembered I told father we'd 
 call off the hunt before dark, wherever we happened to 
 be so that we could get back in decent time. Whatever 
 will they think now? It's well in the night and we don't 
 know that we'll be freed for days. Can't tell when they'll 
 let us go!" 
 
 "I've been bothering about that right along," the 
 younger boy replied, as he helped pull the covering over 
 his companion where the other's restlessness had tossed 
 it off. "We are in a sorry pickle here, that's a fact. 
 And our folks at home will worry all right, but it can't 
 be helped far as I can see. I didn't want to make things 
 any worse by talking to you about it. Being shot is 
 bad enough for once. So I talked traps. But it's not 
 so blue as it seems. Not yet. Really, it isn't, Bob. Our 
 folks know we're way off somewhere after that stag and 
 they'll think we've been delayed. Why, father wouldn't 
 take it strange if I wasn't back for another day yet!" 
 
 "My father would. Or rather mother'd begin to worry. 
 She got all upset at our meeting Sandy Flash when I told 
 her of it last time. Still, I reckon you're right about 
 to-night. They'll be sure to think we're staying in a 
 farmhouse after a long hunt. We'll plan some way of 
 getting out of here in the morning. We've got to. I bet
 
 150 SANDY FLASH 
 
 the men leave the cave then. That's our one chance." 
 "No doubt of it, Bob. Let's get the best rest we can 
 now, though. We'll need it before we see the end of 
 this!" 
 
 Both boys were feeling the effects of their ordeal. 
 They were a good deal more scared than either cared 
 to admit. Bob Allyn, usually unable to look on the 
 gloomy side of anything, was still weak and shaken by 
 his wound. Dave, though unhurt, felt the blame for 
 his chum's suffering. The younger boy had done more 
 than he appreciated, however, in driving away from Bob's 
 mind the worriment about their parents which had begun 
 to distress him. Little by little nature asserted herself, 
 and the boys rested more calmly. The very closeness of 
 their bodies, the animal warmth of contact beneath the 
 blanket served to lull them, to give them a feeling of 
 security. After all, the human race has never gone very 
 far beyond the tribal stage. In time of trouble, we all 
 want to herd together, feeling the surety of numbers. 
 
 The boys were silent a long time, cuddled side by side 
 in the dim flicker of the tallow dip that spluttered from 
 the. wall of the cave over near the fireplace. Though 
 dry, the place was cold and the few sticks made little 
 impression on the chill. The blanket wrapped tight about 
 them served to keep them fairly comfortable, in spite 
 of the strain of being chained so fast together. To make 
 the most of it, they had twisted the covering under and 
 over them as snugly as they could. Scarcely realizing 
 it, first Dave, then Bob, drifted off in a doze, their senses 
 lulled by the gloom of the place and their bodies fairly 
 worn to exhaustion by the stalking of the stag and the
 
 THE CAVE 151 
 
 excitement of their capture. That had been overwhelm- 
 ing. 
 
 There was little to disturb their deepening slumber. 
 The men sat crouched by the glow of the fire, talking 
 in low tones. Apparently they were on the best of terms 
 once more. It must have been half past nine when 
 Sandy Flash got up, stretching a booted leg toward the 
 logs, as he looked at the boys. The sound of their 
 breathing told of the untroubled sleep that held them fast. 
 There was no deception here and he knew it. Flash Ibent 
 low and crossed the cave on tiptoe to feel in a bag that 
 lay in one corner. He drew out of it a small bit of paper 
 and a quill. Then he shook the leather saddle case softly 
 till he had touched a vial of ink. He rattled it in his 
 hand. 
 
 "Dry as Job's coffin ! " Sandy Flash came back to the 
 fire. "Fetch me a dip of water from the pail yonder, will 
 ye, Mort? That's the way. We'll soon have this here 
 softened up to write to the King's taste. Then I reckon 
 we'd better be gettin' the thing done so's we can leave 
 it over to Rose Tree where they'll be sure an' find it in 
 the mornin'. It won't take us more'n a jiffy! Don't make 
 a racket, Mort. Go easy, can't you!" 
 
 "Wot'll you write, Cap'n?" The man paused, then 
 fetched the mug of water, without disturbing either of 
 the boys. 
 
 "Oh, just a line from one of 'em sayin' the tother 
 has been made off with by Sandy Flash an' that he was 
 followin' over toward the Valley for to try an' get his 
 friend free. They know I was hereabouts two weeks gone, 
 'cause that old feller from Edgemont raised a hullaballoo
 
 152 SANDY FLASH 
 
 when I tied him to a tree. That'll be a plenty to set the 
 farmers chasin' clean across to Cain up the Valley, just 
 where I want 'em. Then, to-morrow night, while they're 
 still gallopin' hell for leather, a-lookin' for the lads in the 
 country over yonder, we'll have the whole place here free 
 for what we're planning to do. The thing's plain as 
 apples on a tree!" 
 
 "Don't see it." Dougherty shook his head. "Won't 
 work! If one was caught an' tother was tryin' fer to 
 get him loose an' follyin' us on, how'd he come to write 
 a letter to his folks at home an' leave it where they'd 
 find it first thing? If he was that close, he'd run in fer 
 help, I'm thinkin'. It's no go, Cap'n Fitz. No go! Wot 
 I sez is we'd best " 
 
 "I haven't thought it all out yet." Sandy Flash tapped 
 irritably with his foot on the stone floor of the cave. 
 "I've been busy most plannin' for the gold an' the man 
 on horseback. I reckon maybe What would you do?" 
 Flash, a rare thing with him, felt a moment of uncer- 
 tainty. He saw his hurried plan was weak. Dougherty 
 was right. It never would work. 
 
 "Wot I claims as the trick to turn is a letter askin' 
 fer what they calls a ransing. To be left over in what-ye- 
 may-call-it, far from here as ever ye please. These here 
 farmin' folks haven't anythin' much to give fer a brace 
 o' brats like these, but they've a good deal o' siller 
 tankards an' one thing an' another stored away. That 
 we knows. More than that, too, hidden away in cellars 
 an' garrets! Now, seein' their boys have been an' gotten 
 made off with, they'll either try to raise a bit o' coin the 
 same which we don't really want since we're after bigger
 
 THE CAVE 153 
 
 game altogether, or they'll fly hot-headed after us to 
 wheresoever we says they're to leave the money. That's 
 just what we wants 'em to do! Wot I knows of 'em, 
 they'll do it, too, not wastin' no time collectin' funds. 
 These here fellers are fighters, Cap'n! As fightin' fools 
 as ever Lee's Legion! If they up an' chast ye all the day 
 when they hears ye're in the neighborhood, like as they 
 did a bit ago from Birmingham, wot'll they do when they 
 finds their brats took off by ye an' held fer pay? Why, 
 they'll rare up an' tear the country loose ! " 
 
 "Ye've brains after all, Mort, me hearty!" Sandy 
 grinned with quick approval. "We'll do just that. What's 
 more we'll give the lads a taste that'll make 'em waste no 
 time doin' what we say. I'll write this ransom thing now 
 an' then we'll have 'em sign it, hot off, so as that we can 
 leave it over to their place this night. They'll do it quick 
 as ever we put it to 'em. An' their folks'll find it at 
 crow o' cock!" 
 
 "Where they live?" Mordecai Dougherty watched 
 Sandy as he mixed the dried ink. "Do ye know, fer 
 sure?" 
 
 "Not just where, I don't. Down Providence Road 
 somewhere. They'll tell us where their folks are, too, I 
 reckon. They'll sign soon enough, never ye fear, onct 
 they see what's comin' to 'em if they don't. We've no 
 time to lose hagglin' over it. Wake 'em up, Mort. No, 
 better wait, I guess, till we're ready to begin on 'em 
 proper. It'll scare 'em more, comin' sudden thata-way!" 
 
 Sandy Flash's face was a fiend's mask of cruelty as 
 he grinned. The degenerate instinct that had led him 
 to lash old Peter Burgandine so wantonly now turned
 
 154 SANDY FLASH 
 
 toward the helpless boys with all the more abandon for 
 his recent kindness in bringing Bob the bandage for his 
 wound. Flash felt that he had weakened in that. 
 
 Dougherty, blackguard that he was, saw the change 
 in his leader's eyes and wondered at the wave of disgust 
 that swept over him for the other's brutality, though he 
 little suspected to what end the man would go. 
 
 Sandy Flash bent low to the fire, blowing the embers 
 in a hot glow between cupped hands. As the flames rose 
 and twisted in answer among the sticks and gleaming 
 coals, he picked up the little bar of iron from the hearth. 
 It had done duty as a poker and as a support on which 
 to rest the skillet. This he pushed into the heart of the 
 flaming wood, turning it about and working it in with a 
 practised play of wrist that spoke the smith. 
 
 "They'll talk, the sleepin' beauties! They'll sign an 
 do whatever we ask 'em! They say fire an' heat makes 
 iron run. Aye! An' words, too, I'm sayin'! Heat's a 
 great persuader when ye put it to a body right. Just 
 rest ye easy, Mort, me dear, an' ye'll see how to make 
 the good round sovereigns flow from a tax collector's 
 pocket when he swears he hasn't ha'penny to his name! 
 I've tried heat an' iron before. It'll work! It'll sweat 
 'em." 
 
 "It's crueller nor me ye be, Cap'n Fitz, fer a fact." 
 Dougherty looked uneasily toward the fire. "I've killed 
 afore this, when I has to, but I never took to torturin' 
 children. I fights as hard as the best, but I fights men!" 
 
 "Never ye fear, Mort, me darlin'! Don't be boilin' 
 over before there's need. They'll not take much o' killin' 
 this night." He pulled out the rod and spat on the
 
 THE CAVE 155 
 
 end that was beginning to glow dully. "J ust a touch 
 or so, a bit o' persuadin' to wake 'em up an' ye'll see a 
 pair o' lambs! Tis but a good old gipsy trick, I'm after 
 usin' on 'em! Are ye ready, me buck, to hold the darlin's 
 while the shearin's on? If there's bleatin' to distress your 
 ears or wake the neighbors, just roll up their heads in 
 the blanket an' sit on 'em. There's precious few will 
 hear anything in this wilderness, I'm sayin'!" 
 
 Sandy Flash rose from his knees, holding the smoking 
 bar of iron in his hand. Dougherty felt covertly for the 
 knife in his stocking. He had no fear of Dave, misjudg- 
 ing the strength of the lad because he was a boy in size, 
 but Bob's great build and play of muscle had not been 
 lost upon him earlier in the day when he had tied the 
 wounded boy's wrists. Shackled as both youths were, 
 he would take no chances. 
 
 As the outlaw crossed the cave, Dave stirred uneasily 
 and awoke. For an instant he did not know where he 
 was, but the bite of the anklet as he shifted his feet 
 brought back his surroundings with an unpleasant shock 
 of reality. It also awoke Bob. The big lad groaned, 
 as he turned and felt the sting of his shoulder. Then, 
 simultaneously, the boys caught sight of Sandy Flash 
 standing over them with the dull glow of the iron in his 
 hand. Neither lad realized at all what he was about. 
 
 The scene held motionless for a full half moment in 
 the shifting murk of the cavern. Then three things hap- 
 pened at once. 
 
 Dave, awake at last and half mad with terror, caught 
 the pungent taste of hot metal and saw the purpose of 
 the bar in the outlaw's grasp. Dougherty forestalled the
 
 156 SANDY FLASH 
 
 lad's attempt to move by throwing himself bodily across 
 both boys, meshing them helpless under his own great 
 weight in the tangling folds of the blanket. Sandy Flash, 
 quick to seize the opening offered, bent forward and 
 snatched with his free hand at Dave's arm, as the boy 
 writhed in helpless panic to squirm away. The lad's 
 sleeve ripped sharply, then tore off. The bared flesh 
 gleamed white to the shoulder as the muscles whipped and 
 strained beneath the skin. The highwayman exerted his 
 strength with a sudden wrench that forced the boy's 
 elbow backward, bent cruelly tense against his knee. 
 Dave's breath sucked gaspingly. Suddenly Flash started 
 and turned his head. 
 
 A whistle had sounded without the cavern. Very thin 
 and faint, but none the less a whistle, rising and falling 
 twice in unmistakable notes.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 THE ESCAPE 
 
 AS long as they lived Dave and Bob never went 
 through such a moment of mental agony as that 
 immediately preceding the note of the whistle. It was 
 as though some unseen power had laid hold upon the 
 four actors in the cavern's drama and held them motion- 
 less. Though inert in body, the boys were active in 
 mind, most torturingly so. They knew they were help- 
 less. They saw what the men were about. What had 
 prompted such a sudden attack of fiendish cruelty upon 
 them, neither lad could guess. It was enough to feel 
 themselves crushed beneath the bulky form of Dougherty, 
 tangled in the folds of the blanket, their feet chained 
 fast together with Sandy Flash and his smoking bar of 
 iron bending over them. 
 
 Bob had been slower to awake than Dave; longer at 
 a loss to know what had happened. The weight of Mor- 
 decai Dougherty upon him and the smothering fold of 
 the blanket pulled over his head had goaded the boy to 
 fury. The stab of the wound lent its spur to the fight. 
 It was in the tearing and writhing of his struggle that 
 the covering was ripped to one side and he caught sight 
 of Dave's arm bent backward in the outlaw's grip. For 
 the first time the shocking horror of it struck him. Bob 
 braced himself for the effort and tore one hand free. 
 Then with a scream of rage and pain the lad smashed 
 
 157
 
 i 5 8 SANDY FLASH 
 
 his fist upward, seeking Mordecai's face. The man 
 dodged by ducking, driving his chin deep into the bullet- 
 ripped shoulder where the boy's knuckles could not reach 
 him. At the same time he caught the flailing arm and 
 pushed it above the lad's head. 
 
 Bob, coming into his full growth, was fit and clean 
 and hard as nails from the out of doors, nearly as strong 
 as the blackguard pinning him down had the fight been 
 fair. Drink and foul living had long left their mark 
 on Mordecai, so that his life told in the scales against 
 him. But the lad was wounded. The odds were too 
 high; the man won. The quick, agonizing push of Dough- 
 erty's chin into the throbbing shoulder was more than 
 any one could bear without a flinch. That slight shudder 
 of pain gave the brute on top his chance. He was instant 
 to seize it. Bob set his teeth and went rigid from neck 
 to heel as he fought the pressure inch by inch. His breath 
 came in long pants that broke from his lips with sobs. 
 Every muscle in the well-knit body stretched and quiv- 
 ered with the strain. Sweat stood out on the boy's 
 forehead in spite of the cold. With his free foot he 
 scratched for a purchase on the slippery stones. If only 
 he could get his other hand loose from the blanket wound 
 tight about him! Again the breath broke from the boy 
 in a coughing sort of groan as his chest relaxed a little. 
 It was piteous. Bob's lips drew back from his clenched 
 teeth, his eyes set in the torture of effort, but Mordecai 
 let the whole weight of his body push the arm upward. 
 Slowly it began to move. Muscle and nerve and sinew 
 could stand no more. The boy sobbed out another gasp 
 and went limp, his arm at full length above his head.
 
 THE ESCAPE 159 
 
 Dougherty reached like a flash with his free hand to help 
 his chief, pinning Bob's arm helpless with his left. 
 
 Then it was that the whistle had sounded. 
 
 The next two minutes passed in a confused nightmare 
 for the prisoners. Terror, hope of rescue and pain blinded 
 them to what was taking place. All they knew was that 
 Sandy Flash had sprung upward, dropping Dave's arm. 
 Mordecai grasped it by the wrist before the wiry lad 
 could wrench it away. The man still lay sprawled upon 
 them, mashing them down. Flash paused, then tossed 
 the iron bar upon the hearth, where it fast lost its reddish 
 glow. Then he disappeared in the narrow crevice that 
 gave exit from the cave. Dave and Bob felt the crisis 
 passing for the moment at least. Dougherty seemed to 
 sense the change in their tense bodies. He let go his 
 hold and scrambled to his feet. The dirk gleamed in 
 the candle light as he drew it from his stocking, but he 
 could have spared himself the trouble. The boys sat up, 
 crowding back against the wall. Neither spoke. The 
 pounding of their hearts smothered them. 
 
 A shuffling of steps in the passageway and the outlaw 
 was back. A man in a long riding cloak and three-cor- 
 nered hat edged in after him. The atmosphere cleared. 
 Dougherty returned the knife to his stocking. Bob gritted 
 his teeth and felt at the wound. His hand came away 
 bloody. 
 
 "The devil's to pay! " Sandy Flash was white with ex- 
 citement, his eyes glinting in the firelight like those of 
 a man who has been drinking. "They've changed the 
 date. The whole thing's in doubt!" 
 
 "To-night, I tell you!" The stranger broke in with
 
 160 SANDY FLASH 
 
 quick, sharp tones. "There's scarcely time to get there. 
 You must act at once!" 
 
 "Ye means the gold?" Mordecai Dougherty turned 
 from the boys. "Doan, he sez to-morrer, as clear as as 
 clear as ever can be. Not to-day, but " 
 
 "They've changed it! Can't ye understand? I tell 
 ye they've gone an' changed it! Torley here has just 
 bin tellin' me." 
 
 "Moses Doan got word this evening. Late, it was, too 
 late. He rushed me out to Castle Rock to try to get 
 you word. With the three of us, he said we might still 
 be in time!" 
 
 "Oh, it's Dick Torley, is it? Me ole pal Dandy Dick!" 
 Mordecai squinted in the uncertain light. "I couldn't 
 tell wot ye were, not no ways fer lookin' I couldn't. Very 
 fine in yer new cloke! Ye've come in the nick, as the 
 sayin' is! We've just bin busy with these here young 
 bloods! A kind of barbequin' of 'em, ye might say!" 
 
 Sandy Flash had been taking a bullet pouch from a 
 rude wooden box in the corner. At Dougherty's garrulous 
 mention of the boys, he whirled round with an oath 
 that silenced the other. Dougherty had long since learned 
 to heed his chief. It paid to do so. 
 
 "Will ye stand gabblin' an' dawdlin' there all night, 
 ye " The tone altered as he faced Torley. "When 
 do they leave the town, Dick? Any change in the road? 
 Is there to be a guard? If Doan had only minded his 
 end of the game, we'd stand a show out here. Lettin' 
 a feller know at this late hour, small wonder if they 
 pass us by." 
 
 "He couldn't help it, Captain Fitz, not possibly, he
 
 THE ESCAPE 161 
 
 couldn't. We didn't know ourselves till close by seven 
 that they'd leave with the gold to-night. They're coming 
 this way for sure, straight to Head of Elk. The Goshen 
 Road to the Square, then west through White Horse. 
 There's one with the money and one as guard. They 
 feared too many might give the thing away. What are 
 you doing with the boys? Did they learn of anything?" 
 
 Sandy Flash slung the loop of the pouch over his 
 shoulder and reached for his powder horn. It lay with 
 a pistol belt on a ledge of stone. Slowly he spat toward 
 the fire. 
 
 "Oh, the boys? No, they had scant chance! They'd 
 been prowlin' an' pry in' round here for two weeks gone. 
 Settin' traps. Spyin', like as not. Easy could have bin 
 anyway. I'd take no risk on 'em. Hurry up, Mort, ye 
 slowpoke, we've not a second to lose! Can't ye see it's 
 on the Goshen Road we ought to be this hour gone! 
 I nabbed 'em this afternoon, Dick, for to keep 'em out 
 of harm's way till we'd finished the work." 
 
 Flash kicked the rod of iron close to the hearth. As 
 he did so, he glanced at Dougherty, who had started 
 slightly at the clang of the metal. It was an ugly look 
 and full of meaning. Quite clearly the outlaw chief did 
 not see the need of sharing his methods of persuasion with 
 all his companions in crime. Dougherty scowled back 
 by way of reply. The man still resented Flash's show 
 of temper earlier in the day, when the leader had raised 
 a cudgel to strike him, at the cedar thicket. Mordecai 
 fairly gasped at the knavery of it, as the other went 
 coolly on. 
 
 "They're quiet enough lads in all an' give no manner
 
 162 SANDY FLASH 
 
 o' trouble, but Mort, here, nigh blowed the shoulder off 
 the big buck. I saved him ; but a pretty pickle it'd bin 
 for us to be killin' lads the like of them. An' all to no 
 purpose. Mort always acts without thinkin' that way. 
 Hot as a pepper! We'll let 'em go safe an' sound, onct 
 we've turned the trick in hand an' are ready to cut away 
 for it! " Flash smiled across the cave at the look of stupe- 
 faction on Dougherty's face. 
 
 Bob eyed the stranger deliberately, while he sized up 
 the man and weighed his chances. Then he addressed 
 him as the newcomer crossed the rude hearthstone for a 
 look at the prisoners. 
 
 "That's a lie, a straight lie! I don't know who you 
 are or what you came for, but it isn't true he's telling 
 you!" 
 
 Mort whistled softly to himself. He feared Sandy 
 Flash more than any one else on earth and his mind 
 was of such a type that he could not grasp the thought 
 of another daring to oppose Lim, much less a wounded 
 boy, like Bob, who had just gotten a taste of what he 
 might expect. Dick Torley glanced from the lad's 
 strained face to that of Sandy Flash. Then he smiled. 
 
 "The other man did shoot me, that's truth enough, but 
 Sandy Flash was trying his best to " Bob's voice was 
 steady. 
 
 "Just as you came in!" Dave, shocked to momentary 
 silence by his comrade's bid for aid, saw the slim chance 
 of the dare and grasped it. If the outlaws could only 
 be split among themselves, there might still be some hope 
 for them. The man Torley seemed of a better sort than
 
 THE ESCAPE 163 
 
 his two companions. "The poker! He had it red hot 
 and tried " 
 
 " 'Twas scarin' 'em ; I was after, just puttin' a snatch 
 o' wholesome fear to 'em, that's all. I'm ready, Dick. 
 We had a tussle just now as ye came; the big buck nearly 
 worked loose. Don't ye be botherin' with 'em. Ready, 
 Mort? We'll rope 'em up an' get down to the road. 
 We've not a second to lose!" 
 
 Bob tried to speak, to tell of the horror they had so 
 narrowly missed, but the three men had little time to 
 waste. His words were choked off by the very gag he 
 had suffered from on the way to the cave. Dave, too, 
 was tied and muzzled at the same time. Both boys saw 
 the folly of resistance, so gave in with sinking hearts. 
 While the men bound his arms and rammed the gag 
 between his teeth, the younger lad fairly sobbed with 
 mortification. In his frequent day dreams his imagina- 
 tion had always gotten him free from such predicaments 
 with a facility that was flattering, to say the least. Now, 
 face to face with facts, there seemed to be no way out 
 of it at all. The suave surface of Dandy Dick Torley 
 had misled the lad, for the man gave no heed whatever 
 to his rush of words, apart from an amused laugh. He 
 knew a thing or two of Flash's reputation. Dave lay on 
 a rumpled blanket, limp and beaten outwardly, yet in very 
 despair his wits were keen and active. He had sense 
 enough to listen to his captors talk, as snatches of it came 
 to him. 
 
 "There's three of us now. That means two in one 
 place I'll take the other," Sandy Flash spoke in a low
 
 164 SANDY FLASH 
 
 tone, but rapidly. "The messenger, the feller with gold, 
 I mean, he'll be sure to stop at the Square. May have 
 a change of horses for him there, him an' the guard. Did 
 they say anything about that in the town?" 
 
 "We couldn't find it out. No time. But it's the only 
 place they could change between here and the Turk's 
 Head. He won't go that way, either, beyond the Street 
 Road, so I reckon it'll be at Newtown Square that he'll 
 get a fresh post of horses." 
 
 "Good! Ye'll go there now, fast as ye can. Get near, 
 but keep hidden. Wait till they reach the inn, then ride 
 back to the ford of the Goshen Road. Don't let 'em see 
 ye whatever ye do! When ye get back to the ford, Crum 
 Creek, right below Echo Valley, where the Boot Road 
 joins in, turn sharp to the woods on the left. Ye can't 
 miss it, for Goshen Road's straight as any arrow from the 
 butt of Newtown Hill down. I'll be there waitin'. 
 Where's your horse? Then, Mort, here, he can stay 
 with me. We two will " The words grew indistinct. 
 
 The men had done their work. And well. The lads 
 lay rolled in a heap, half hidden in shadows. Back to 
 back, their arms were lashed first together, then to one 
 another, with strips of blanket. Their left ankles were 
 fast in the leg irons. The gags were securely knotted 
 behind their heads. The prospect of staying cramped 
 in such a position on the cold floor of the cave was not 
 a trifling matter, particularly for the older boy whose 
 wound had gone quite long enough without adequate 
 attention. Flash led the way, blowing out the candle. 
 The two men followed him from the cave. The prisoners 
 were left to themselves, their bodies a black smudge
 
 THE ESCAPE 165 
 
 amid the shadowy play of the firelight. The sound of 
 their breathing rose from the floor in labored gasps as 
 they sucked air past the gags that were partially choking 
 them. 
 
 How long they lay there, the boys never knew. At 
 first, there was considerable light from the sticks on the 
 hearth. Little by little, the flames died down, as the dry 
 wood crumbled to a hot glow of embers and the shadows 
 ceased to leap grotesquely about the walls. Dave began 
 to shiver uncontrollably as he breathed. Bob's jaws 
 set hard. This fight against the cold could very well 
 be the end for both of them and they knew it. It was 
 the gameness of his struggle to keep himself in hand 
 that helped the older boy most, for, fighting dumbly, he 
 put the whole force of his body against the chills that 
 crept over him again and again. He would not give in. 
 He would hold himself rigid till the shaking passed. 
 He would 
 
 The stick Flash had used for a gag snapped suddenly 
 between the convulsive grinding of the lad's jaws. With 
 a cough of relief, he spat it out, together with the chok- 
 ing wad of cloth. A trickle of blood ran down his chin 
 from the scratch where the broken wood had torn the 
 side of his mouth. That bit of freedom was the one 
 thing that gave him courage for further effort. That, 
 and the now constant shivering that passed through his 
 chum's body. Dave was a wiry boy, lean, with no sur- 
 plus fat to ward off cold. The dim chill and damp of the 
 cavern shook him distressingly, biting into his very mar- 
 row. He knew his danger and was beginning to let the 
 fear of it get the better of him.
 
 166 SANDY FLASH 
 
 "I say, Davey, all right? Can you move at all?" Bob 
 coughed blood from his mouth. His words were the 
 first sign the younger boy had of the breaking of the gag. 
 
 "If you can, try and wiggle a bit. If only we both 
 could edge over together, we'd get nearer the fire and 
 stop freezing to death anyway. Our feet are pretty free, 
 guess they forgot 'em in their rush." 
 
 The very ability to speak, to explain, made the rest 
 easy easy, that is, apart from the exquisite torture of 
 scraping the rawness of his wound over the stone floor, 
 as the husky boy slid his body, inch by inch, toward the 
 saving heat. He waited each time till Dave seemed ready, 
 then together the lads gained their hard fought fraction 
 of space. Tied helpless as mummies, the four wrists 
 fast together, it took some time to reach the hearth, but 
 the struggle served to warm them almost as much as 
 the dying charcoal. Then Bob made his next discovery. 
 
 "I say, Dave, if we both turn our heads sideways, I 
 may be able to get at that gag of yours. Twist round 
 far as ever you can and bend back your neck. I'll turn 
 and bite at it. If we really try don't mind how it hurts 
 we've got to work it now or we'll never do it!" 
 
 Gasping with the pain in his shoulder, Bob moved his 
 head as far to the left as it would go, while Dave craned 
 his upward from the floor and held it so that the knotted 
 cloth of the gag came within reach of his chum's teeth. 
 Never had the boys known the nerve torture of straining 
 muscles beyond their reach and attempting to hold them 
 there, but they learned it now. Three times Bob caught 
 a loose bit of the rag in his teeth and three times he had
 
 THE ESCAPE 167 
 
 to let his head fall back. The lad's body ached with 
 the effort, ached all over with stabs of real and burning 
 agony, till he had begun to pant as though he had run 
 a race. The wounded shoulder was forgotten in the 
 greater pain, but he kept on. The tendons on the right 
 side of his neck and about his shoulder blades throbbed 
 agonizingly, literally scorching with pain. The fourth 
 time he got a grip that held. Then came the test. 
 
 Back and forth he worried the knot, an inch each way, 
 every move gaining a little, every motion costing a hew 
 fight to resist the desire to let go. He wanted to drop 
 back and relax, his whole body cried for it, every fiber 
 protesting with knifelike cuts. The small of his back 
 suffered most, that, and his cramped arm muscles, as 
 the sensitive nerve centers rebelled against the unusual 
 exertion. Dave's neck was twisted round and upward 
 as painfully, but his lighter build made it easier for 
 him. Bob's teeth set like a bulldog's in a last desperate 
 grip, then he let his head fall backward. He could 
 do no more. His whole body slackened from the strain 
 all but his jaws and his brain. He bit hard to that 
 wisp of rag and hung on. The weight tore loose part 
 of the knot. Savagely he snapped at the remaining end, 
 gasping and half crying. He could not stand the anguish 
 in his arms any longer. It was like searing fire. He 
 could not raise his head again, try as he would to force 
 his body to the will of his mind but he had ripped the 
 knotted gag! 
 
 Dave did the rest. A minute later he had shaken the 
 wad from his mouth. "That's something! Oh, Bob, your
 
 i68 SANDY FLASH 
 
 arm must be some done for! I can't stand the cramp 
 in mine much more, but yours with the wound I'm 
 sorry!" 
 
 Bob Allyn lay silent, his eyes shut, breathing hard 
 and short. The cold was growing more intense and 
 neither lad could endure much more of it, with their 
 circulation slowing up as it was. There was now no light 
 in the cavern except the glow of the ashes which scarcely 
 served to show them where the fire had been. Bob had 
 done what he could; the boy was equal to no further 
 effort in that chill till he should have recovered from 
 the shock of the wound. Dave felt the relaxing of the 
 other's body and recognized the danger. They were 
 hardly bestead and he knew it well enough. 
 
 "Come on, Bob, let's try for the cloth on our wrists. 
 It's only a bit of a rag. We've got to do something or 
 the cold'll get us! Remember what happened to that 
 man last winter over in Uwchlan?" 
 
 "I certainly do." Bob roused himself with a mutter. 
 "He rolled up in a wolf's pelt, fur side out, 'stead of next 
 his body, poor fellow, and they found him in the spring 
 frozen stiff as a board. Pleasant thoughts you're having, 
 Dave, seeing we're like to come by the same end, our- 
 selves. Unless Flash comes back and slits our throats! 
 That man had a fur to start with, while we've nothing 
 at all. If only this stone floor wasn't so cold, we might " 
 
 "Bob, all we need is something to rub the strips of 
 blanket against, something sharp. Brace up for a try! 
 Let's feel for a stone. We'll do it yet!" 
 
 Twenty minutes later the lads' arms were free. Their
 
 THE ESCAPE 169 
 
 wrists were chafed bloody, but the loosening of the bonds 
 had been a good deal easier than they had looked for. 
 The outlaws had left them in the hurry of excitement 
 incident to reaching the road in time to intercept the 
 courier. Torley's sudden appearance at the cave and 
 the message he had brought was enough to upset even 
 Flash's usual calm, for after a fortnight of effort in 
 keeping under cover, the change in plans had all but 
 ruined his chances. Moses Doan had done what he 
 could in the town, but at best Torley could not have 
 gained more than an hour or two over the authorities' 
 mounted agent. Small wonder that the boys had been 
 gagged without mercy and tied without proper care. 
 
 Dave's first move was to throw a pile of sticks on the 
 fire. He could stand upright and reach about without 
 making Bob stir at all, as the leg iron had a bit of 
 leeway in its half foot of rusty links. Then the smaller 
 boy turned his attention to the wounded shoulder. The 
 bandage he had put on earlier in the evening had been 
 rubbed to one side in the scuffle and as Bob had edged 
 his body, crablike, along the uneven floor. It was not 
 much of a task, however, to rip a piece from his shirt 
 and tie the arm up again. 
 
 Then the boys set about the problem of freeing their 
 feet from the shackles. They knew their time was short. 
 The men might be back at any moment, one of them 
 at all events. Besides, what with the heat of the new 
 fire to drive the chill from their bodies and the torturing 
 cramp gone from their arms, their spirits had picked 
 up amazingly. Dave was excited as though he had found
 
 170 SANDY FLASH 
 
 a new trail in the woodland. Bob was more quiet, as 
 his blood began to warm him, but the set of his jaws 
 boded small good for the men who had hurt him when 
 he was down. The Scotch training in the lad, stern and 
 straight, cried out rebelliously for fair play. Particularly, 
 he wanted to match his strength against Dougherty's, the 
 scoundrel who had kicked him in the side as he lay on 
 the snow. New courage came to the lad, as he saw their 
 chances of freedom growing with every moment safely 
 passed. 
 
 "If only we can smash this rotten thing off." Dave 
 shook his foot angrily till the chain rattled. "We still 
 might do some good. They didn't know when the men 
 with the money were to get to the Square at Newtown. 
 I'm all mixed up, myself, about it." 
 
 "We've got to get away from here, that's sure, before 
 they come back. If we don't, they'll kill the pair of 
 us. I say, Dave, do you know we might be able to reach 
 the inn up there, for a fact! I reckon it's a tax collector 
 they're lying in wait for. That's what Sandy Flash does 
 mostly. But that fellow from the town looks as if it 
 was something pretty big. Get that stone by the fire, 
 Dave, and try to smash the chain. Lam it hard! Lop 
 it off! If we could break it, it'd be most as good as 
 getting the whole irons away!" 
 
 The stone did the trick. At the third crushing blow, 
 the rust-bitten links flattened and one cracked partially 
 open. A twist of the poker by way of a lever severed 
 the metal entirely. 
 
 "That's the stuff! We've got to leave the band on our 
 ankles, I reckon for a while, anyway."
 
 THE ESCAPE 171 
 
 "Tie the end of the chain against our legs with a 
 strip of blanket and it won't bother us so much. It's 
 the best we can do now at any rate. Let's hurry!" 
 
 The boys worked with feverish haste, binding the odd 
 links above the metal bands, making the whole thing 
 as snug as they could. An hour after the men had left 
 them, trussed back to back and helpless, they were free 
 and able to move as fast as they wanted despite the 
 weight of the broken irons on their left legs. In the 
 dark they could go no quicker than a walk anyway. 
 Leaving the fire as it was, they squeezed into the crevice 
 and pushed their way to the natural platform of rock 
 beneath the thorn screen. Their flintlocks and ammuni- 
 tion they could not find, although they wasted scant time 
 in search. Chiefly they wanted to get clear of the rocks 
 undetected. 
 
 From the ledge onward, it was hard to feel their course 
 in the gloom, but the fog had lifted considerably with 
 the chill of night and the star gleam of the winter con- 
 stellations helped them. Once in the oaks that ringed 
 the massive pile of the Castle, the boys paused to hold 
 a consultation and to get their bearings aright. It would 
 not do to rush blindly toward the Square for all they 
 knew straight into the arms of Sandy Flash once more. 
 On the other hand, they realized they would have to act 
 immediately, as it was already after eleven at night and 
 the rider from town must be nearing the crossroad inn, 
 if indeed, he had not already passed it. 
 
 "Let's keep together this time. We can put up a better 
 fight that way than by ourselves. If that man ever tries 
 again to touch us with "
 
 172 SANDY FLASH 
 
 "What'll we fight 'em with?" Bob's voice was a low 
 whisper. "I might have fetched that poker he had, but 
 now we've not a thing. Bare hands or nothing, I guess 
 it's got to be." 
 
 "I only wish we could have found our guns," Dave 
 broke in, "but they've hidden 'em somewheres or taken 
 'em with 'em. I've got this, though." The boy held 
 out his hand. A long knife sheated in leather showed 
 up dimly. "It's like the one Dougherty had in his stock- 
 ing. I found it in the cave back there. We can use it!' 1 
 
 "That's the stuff! Let's get our direction and hurry." 
 Bob looked at the sky. "The Dipper's right over yonder, 
 let me see, there's the North Star. See it, Dave? Get 
 it by the Pointers, right over by that branch? We've got 
 to work along almost due east for the Square. It's quite 
 a ways, too!" 
 
 "Not by the roads though, we can't go. They're on 
 'em. I reckon they're right below us somewheres now, 
 Sandy Flash and Dougherty, between here and the Goshen 
 ford. He said they'd split, you know." 
 
 "Yes, and we've got to cross the creek below the Stras- 
 burg ford to miss 'em. It'll be full of ice, but there's no 
 other way because they'll likely watch both roads west. 
 I say, let's hurry!" 
 
 As quietly as they could, Dave and Bob hurried over 
 the frozen ground, trying to work toward Newtown 
 Square, yet at the same time keeping the forest-shadowed 
 slope of Castle Rock between them and the place they 
 knew the outlaws must be. The waters of Crum proved 
 their greatest obstacle, as they could find no convenient 
 stones to cross on. The boys, well hidden in the tangle
 
 THE ESCAPE 173 
 
 of trees, paused and looked despairingly at the brook 
 slipping past them. Like deep-piled velvet lay the 
 shadows on the water, blue-black, impenetrable, unbroken, 
 near the bank, etching the outline of the forest oaks, 
 further out, where the star gleam turned the mirrored 
 surface to a sheen of faintly burnished steel. Silent and 
 deep and biting cold, it ran, with only a fringing shelf 
 of ice. To wade meant a midnight soaking to the waist. 
 Irresolutely, they checked a moment, yet mindful of the 
 cost of delay. 
 
 "What's it to be?" Dave glanced at the water. 
 "Think you can stand it, Bob?" 
 
 "Got to. Looks awfully cold, doesn't it?" The big 
 lad shivered in spite of himself. Then his mind turned 
 back to Dougherty and how the man had kicked him 
 so brutally and so needlessly when he was down. The 
 boy's lips set thin and hard. "I guess it'll kill the pair 
 of us with chill, but it's the best we can do, Dave. They're 
 at the ford and the man is riding toward 'em. I've been 
 letting you do everything to-night, but it's time we stopped 
 being babies!" 
 
 "I'll try it, if you will! It's kinder more shallower 
 there at the bend. Hear it purring?" Dave glanced at 
 his friend, relieved to note the return of energy as the 
 wound shock wore off under the spur of excitement. To 
 tell the truth, he had been worried all evening by Bob's 
 most unusual lack of initiative. Dave had failed to ap- 
 preciate what the other had suffered from the low velocity 
 slug of Dougherty's pistol. 
 
 "We've got to get in, so the sooner, the better. Come 
 along!" Bob chose the most likely spot and stepped
 
 174 SANDY FLASH 
 
 down. He was really beginning to feel like himself again 
 for the first time since afternoon. 
 
 By luck the brook broadened here and lost proportion- 
 ately in depth. The boys climbed out on the slippery 
 eastern bank, well soaked to the thighs, yet dry in body. 
 Their teeth chattered uncontrollably, none the less, as 
 they hastened along. Dave shivered, breathing short and 
 hard, as he took up a jog in hopes of getting warmer, 
 but the chain about his ankle worked loose from the 
 cloth and he lost a precious minute in making it fast 
 again. After that, he contented himself with a brisk 
 walk. The remembrance of Sandy Flash's face as the 
 blackguard had strained back his arm and held the hot 
 iron over the bared flesh was enough to lend courage 
 to the boy. He thought about it in a puzzled way. 
 
 "Bob, what do you suppose they were trying to burn 
 us with that iron for? We'd not moved nor done a thing. 
 Sound asleep, too. It seems queer to me." 
 
 "I've tried to make that out myself, Dave. All I can 
 think of is that they're either raving mad or maybe did 
 it to scare us. That, most likely. To make us tell 'em 
 something they wanted to know. They sure did scare me! 
 When I woke up with that Mordecai fellow on top and 
 saw Sandy Flash most breaking your arm and that poker 
 of his wheel I'll never forget the look he had on his 
 face. I say! Like some animal's more'n a man's! Lucky 
 for us that other one came along when he did!" 
 
 "It certainly was! Let's hurry it up, Bob. Think 
 we'll be in time? This darned old chain is going to be 
 loose again in a minute! Hang it all!" 
 
 Climbing the slope of Newtown Hill was no easy matter
 
 THE ESCAPE 175 
 
 what with the snow and the wet clothes and the handicap 
 of the leg irons holding them back. Suddenly Bob 
 laughed to himself. 
 
 "Reckon I'm going crazy, Dave, but what do you think 
 I've been scheming over ever since we crossed the creek 
 back there? I've been thinking of how to get that old 
 otter we missed the other day." 
 
 "Otter!" Dave looked toward his chum in bewilder- 
 ment. That was the last thing he had been thinking 
 about. "Are you crazy? What put otter in your head 
 to-night?" 
 
 "Yes, the otter, the big one up in Ridley, you know- 
 Silly, I reckon, but it's been on my mind as much as 
 Sandy Flash. Because I know now how to get it. A 
 sure thing!" 
 
 "Won't hold us back any to tell me, I guess. Must 
 admit I've not been thinking much of traps to-night. 
 The otter! Of all things! How'll you go get him, Bob? 
 Salt on his tail or magic pass and magic word?" Dave 
 laughed a little hysterically. The strain of the last few 
 hours was beginning to tell on the high-strung boy, as 
 well it might. Bob, for all his hurt, was the more com- 
 posed, his stolid nature standing him in good stead. One 
 would hardly have taken him for the shocked and 
 wounded lad of the earlier evening. 
 
 "No, I'm not joking either, Dave. Really mean it. 
 It'll work, too. Just you wait and see if it doesn't. 
 Remember where " 
 
 "Look, Bob, we're almost there!" Dave's strained whis- 
 per broke in. "Vender's the crossroad at Newtown 
 Square! We're in time!" He vaulted the wayside fence,,
 
 176 SANDY FLASH 
 
 forgetful of his chain, and dropped to the ditch below. 
 The boys had been cutting cross-country and come into 
 the Goshen Road a couple of hundred yards west of the 
 Pratt House Tavern. It lay round a bend on the hill, 
 a little to their right. 
 
 "Can you run, Dave? We'd better "< Bob pointed 
 and cried out. 
 
 The lad never finished his sentence. 
 
 Things had begun to happen along the narrow stretch 
 of road that rose sharply before them. The midnight calm 
 cracked with such amazing suddenness that they paused, 
 too taken aback for an instant to move. 
 
 A shot, an outcry and the sound of shouting recalled 
 their mission and sent them running up the rising ground 
 as hard as they could go. Just as they topped it and 
 caught sight of the white-walled hostelry, another shot 
 echoed across the snowy pastures. 
 
 "It's the fellow from town and the man Flash sent' 
 here!" Dave pointed, as he ran on, breathing hard 
 hoping against hope that the chain might not break loose 
 again from his leg and trip him. "They must have 
 gotten" 
 
 "They're fighting at the inn! We're in time! They're 
 here! Oh, I say " Bob Allyn hugged his wounded arm 
 close. "Lookout! We're in for it now, Davey! They're 
 beginning to shoot!" 
 
 Out of the turmoil before them came the rush and 
 throb of pounding hoofs. A flintlock flared brightly 
 against the dark and the boys ducked instinctively as 
 the slug whined overhead, thudding savagely into an oak
 
 THE ESCAPE 177 
 
 behind them. Bob grabbed his comrade's arm, pulling 
 him to one side of the road. 
 
 "They're trying for Flash's man on the horse! He's 
 running away. We'll be hit here next thing I Get low.! 
 Duck for it, Dave!" 
 
 Each knew enough of firearms to treat them with re- 
 spect. An instant later, they were deep in the shelter 
 of the ditch, but still stumbling along as fast as they 
 could toward the inn. The horse thundered past them 
 in a scud of flying snow, the rider low bent on the animal's 
 neck, spurring madly, hat off, greatcoat streaming behind. 
 The lads swung round, as he dashed by, shielding their 
 faces from the frozen lumps that hurtled back at every 
 drive of hoofs. The sound of galloping died quickly, as 
 the man turned the bend and sank from sight beyond the 
 hill toward Brook's Wood. Bob and Dave still stood 
 in the ditch, looking after him. 
 
 "That wasn't it must have been " Bob rubbed the 
 pelted snow from his face. "It wasn't their fellow at all! 
 Not Torley! I say, Dave, it's the man with the gold 
 and he's heading " 
 
 Dave clutched the other's arm convulsively, as he fin- 
 ished his companion's sentence. 
 
 "Straight for Flash at Crum Creek ford! They must 
 have hit the guard ! "
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 THE BATTLE OF THE PRATT 
 
 WHEN Sandy Flash with his two accomplices slipped 
 from the cavern at Castle Rock, leaving the boys 
 cramped and shivering upon the floor, the leader of the 
 outlaws had already thought out his plan for trapping 
 the couriers and making off with the gold. He knew the 
 authorities were moving it under cover of night, depending 
 more upon the secrecy than upon a larger force to guard 
 it. The very fact that Moses Doan had got wind of 
 their change in date showed they were suspicious, wary. 
 That meant they would do all to push the thing with 
 despatch, rushing their men post haste toward Head of 
 Elk, speeded by a change of mounts as often as could 
 be arranged for in advance. All this Doan had learned 
 and passed on to Flash through Dougherty and Dick 
 Torley. It was upon his knowledge of the route they 
 were to follow that the outlaw based the ambuscade. 
 With three on his side working together, supported by 
 darkness and surprise, he had small doubt of the outcome. 
 On reaching the Strasburg Road below Castle Rock, 
 Sandy Flash sent Torley to fetch his horse from the 
 bushes a short distance away. He and Mordecai re- 
 mained on foot near the ford. Flash was no longer un- 
 easy about the altered plans, although he had counted 
 mightily on this particular hold-up ever since Doan first 
 
 178
 
 bJD 
 
 a 
 
 <u 
 _c 
 
 -o 
 c
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE PRATT 179 
 
 heard of the gold shipment and determined to get it with 
 his aid. Torley rejoined them a moment later, rolling 
 up the tether strap that had fastened his horse. The three 
 men drew under the shadows and talked in low voices. 
 Sandy Flash repeated his instructions to Torley, stressing 
 the place where he was to rejoin them after seeing the 
 courier arrive at the inn. The brook ford and the pitch 
 of the banks on the Goshen Road would make a place 
 ideally staged for their purpose. The highwayman had 
 long since learned the elementary requirements for success 
 at his dangerous game. He had not the least idea of 
 courting trouble. 
 
 "All clear? By the Boot Road fork near Echo Valley! 
 Good ye know the country, Dick. Then best o' luck an' 
 be off!" Sandy Flash nodded up the road. 
 
 "There's just one thing, Captain Fitz," Torley hesi- 
 tated, then spoke on rapidly, "I've thought of. If this 
 fellow's on guard, as he ought to be, he'll maybe notice 
 the tracks in the snow and see 'em for fresh. Not one 
 chance in a thousand, but how about this? Suppose I 
 get me now to the tavern, watch for 'em to come, then 
 just as they're changing horses, take a shot at the pair? 
 If I can wing the guard, so much the better. But the 
 main thing is that the fellow with the money'll think the 
 game is up and he'll ride for his life. Whether they're 
 one or two, they'll pull slow for the ford by Echo Valley 
 they've got to. Then when they hear no chasing, they'll 
 think they're clean away. That'll make it all the easier 
 for you and Mort Dougherty. And I might get a chance 
 to knock the guard over, at that. It won't take " 
 
 "Can ye be sure of it? The folks at the inn'll be warned
 
 i8o SANDY FLASH 
 
 before this, small doubt, to have the fresh post ready and 
 saddled. They'll be up an' about. If ye shoot, they'll 
 jump in to help 'em quick as a weasel. That'd ruin every- 
 thing. I think ye'd best " 
 
 "I can take my time near the inn and see which carries 
 the coin. It's a rare fat sum and weighs it, every ounce! 
 Never fear! I'll know soon enough who's got it. If you 
 see one coming down the road, he'll be your man. Under- 
 stand? If there's two, why, you'll know I've missed the 
 shot. Then you and Mort'll have to handle the pair. 
 Shall I try it? The scare of it'll help you mightily." 
 
 Sandy Flash saw the cleverness of the trick. If it only 
 succeeded in stampeding or separating the riders and mak- 
 ing them think that the danger had passed, it would be 
 well worth while. No one knew better than the outlaw of 
 the Brandywine that a man is seldom so unprepared as 
 when he relaxes from a strain. Dick Torley had hit upon 
 the one thing most likely to bring this about with the least 
 danger to them all. Flash was clever enough to avail him- 
 self of anything his followers had to offer provided it 
 seemed reasonably sure of success. He changed his own 
 arrangements promptly. 
 
 As Torley cantered off, bent on nearing the Square from 
 the south, Flash and Dougherty hurried into the woodland 
 beyond the Strasburg Road. Following Crum Creek 
 through the ravine where they had captured the boys that 
 afternoon, the men soon came to the Goshen ford. Flash 
 looked about him with more than his usual care, studying 
 the lay of the roadside shadows and the shelter of the tree 
 trunks. 
 
 "The fittest place in the Three Counties, me hearty!
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE PRATT 181 
 
 The ford'll make 'em slow to a walk, howsoever fast they 
 come from the Square. The down slope, ye know." 
 
 Mordecai glanced round him. Somehow or other, he 
 could not feel the enthusiasm of his chief. 
 
 "Looks all right to me, Cap'n, but wot I sez is supposin' 
 they don't come this here way at all? Supposin' they 
 goes off some'eres else. Wot then?" 
 
 "Oh, it's here they'll come, all right, never ye fear. 
 Doan was sure of it. He told you clear enough, didn't he! " 
 
 "So he sez to me larst time I saw him. But wot's to 
 pay if they don't? That's wot I asks, Cap'n, wot's to pay 
 if they up an' changes? It's " 
 
 "Ye're devilish low to-night, Mort, with all your ifs! 
 What's ailin' ye? Ye know right well he said they'd fol- 
 low the Haverford Road from town to the " 
 
 "That he did. He told me clearly. From the town to 
 Couperstown, then over the crick an' on up to the New- 
 town crossing!" 
 
 "Straight to the Square by the Goshen Road. Ye told 
 me so yourself, when ye came. Your very words. From 
 the Square on west. It's plain as a Quaker's bonnet! " 
 
 "True, I did an' that's Doan's own words. None other. 
 Luck'll play fer us or agin' us. It's all luck, so wot's 
 the use o' fightin' it? The place is fit enough to trap the 
 devil himself in, that it is!" 
 
 "There's no better betwixt us an' the Brandywines. 
 Ye told the truth there. Sure an' the black murk o' fear 
 is on ye this night, whatever's the cause. Cheer up, me 
 buck, an' ye'll see the neatest game ye've ever set an eye 
 to! I only wish the ford was not so near the cave, though. 
 Means we'll have to clear out o' here the minute we get
 
 182 SANDY FLASH 
 
 the stuff. A good thing we got holt o' the boys when we 
 did. We can leave 'em tied there an' ride for the Valley 
 hills, hell for leather, or maybe Newlin. Soon as ever 
 they raise the hue an' cry, some farmer'll find 'em like as 
 not and turn 'em loose again." 
 
 "Frozen stiff as pine cones, they'll be, 'fore mornin', I'm 
 thinkin', if we lets 'em stay up there, wot with no fire an' 
 the winter night bio win' over 'em that a-way. It's a damp 
 hole enough an' they're but yearlings after all. 'Course 
 we saves ourselves, that's first, but it wouldn't take much 
 time fer to slip by an' cut the hobbles off 'em." 
 
 "I thought ye wanted to slit the throats on the pair of 
 'em, like a couple o' shotes, a bit ago? Cut 'em off, head 
 an' tail, branch an' rush, as the parson used to say? Ye're 
 changin' like a weather cock, me buck, to-night!" Sandy 
 Flash grinned to himself. He saw that his brutality had 
 stirred up such sympathy toward the boys as his accom- 
 plice was capable of. The man took it as a compliment. 
 "If ye're so tender-hearted, better have stayed in the 
 town with Doan. It's easier to play the spy there than 
 the man out here. A deal easier!" 
 
 "I only was a-sayin' " Mordecai was apologetic once 
 more, as he felt that his chief had detected the passing 
 weakness. In truth, his attitude had changed since the 
 afternoon. Then, he felt the boys a menace; he had 
 really tried to kill the big one with his pistol. Now, as 
 prisoners, he no longer feared them. After all, what were 
 they but lads. 
 
 "Mort, ye've lots to learn. A whole lot!" Flash spoke 
 with emphasis. "To-night, for one thing. Ye'll be tellin' 
 Moses Doan a rare tale enough o' the way I was torturin*
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE PRATT 183 
 
 the lads. Small doubt of it, the minute ye meet him. 
 Well, go ahead an' tell him what ye like, but remember 
 this. Not once did I touch the boy with the iron. Not 
 once did I maul 'em like ye did the big one when he was 
 hurt. Comin' to that, I didn't shoot 'em, either, nor yet 
 try to kill 'em. You did. See the difference. Mort, me 
 boy, if ye'd brains, ye might mark reason in all this, but 
 ye've none, so one minute it's brutal cruel ye be an' the 
 next ye're repentin' an' weak. An' all the time, ye're get- 
 tin' nothin' done. But me I only scared 'em once, scared 
 'em real, while I was at it, an' was fair to gettin' all I 
 wanted of 'em, an' they not a whit the worse. Come, get 
 yonder to the shadow an' mind your eyes. I'll take this 
 side." 
 
 Dougherty crossed the road, shaking his head in the 
 darkness. It all sounded plausible enough, but then he 
 had seen Flash's face as he had strained back Dave's arm 
 earlier in the evening. He did not need any explanation 
 as to that. Dougherty felt again that strange surge of re- 
 pulsion for the other's bestial cruelty. He had followed 
 Flash in many a blackguardly undertaking before, but 
 it had always been man against man not shackled, 
 wounded boys as opponents. What saving good was 
 latent in the fellow revolted at the thought. 
 
 Quietly the men took their places, one on either side 
 of the way, both well hidden by the trees. Echo Valley, 
 dreamy and faint with haze, lay before them, its snow 
 mist-gray and silver beneath the stars, its peaceful pas- 
 tures rolling upward to the black rim of Brook's Wood 
 and the Newtown Hill. Between dark fencerows ran the 
 Goshen Road, straight as any street from ford to forest.
 
 184 SANDY FLASH 
 
 Midnight passed. Meanwhile, Torley, the third of 
 Flash's band, had been riding hard. Before Dave and 
 Bob had had time to free themselves and escape from the 
 cave, he had reached the neighborhood of the Pratt House 
 Tavern and concealed himself behind a fallen chestnut 
 tree near the north-east angle of the road. The man had 
 previously tied his horse in a clump of bushes two hundred 
 yards away. For almost an hour he waited, hugged tight 
 in his cloak, as the wind cut sharply across the level up- 
 land from the Radnor Hills to the east. It was raw and 
 damp with thaw, but chilling to the bone. 
 
 Nearly one hundred years before, William Penn, the 
 great Proprietory, as they called him, had stood on the 
 same spot and, noting the spacious plain, prophesied that 
 here would spring up the first inland town west of his 
 little City of Brotherly Love. He had called the place 
 Newtown Square against the time the village should come 
 into being. To-day, well over two centuries since that 
 prophecy, all that stands at the crossroad is the ancient 
 building that housed the Pratt House inn the only sign 
 of the town that never was. 
 
 It must have been well after midnight when a distant 
 pounding caught Torley's ear. He shivered, then peered 
 over the log. The throbbing hoof beats carried far in the 
 still, moist air, but he could see nothing. He waited, listen- 
 ing eagerly. There could be no mistake. Up the Goshen 
 Road, the double rhythm told of galloping strides, muffled 
 and dulled to a thud in the snow, but unmistakably horses 
 horses coming at speed from the dark. Torley sank to 
 his knees behind the fallen tree and primed the pan of his 
 flintlock pistol. At the same moment a shaft of light
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE PRATT 185 
 
 stabbed out upon the whitened road before the inn as the 
 door opened. Some one came into the yard carrying a 
 lantern. Clearly the change of horses had been well 
 timed. 
 
 While the light bobbed toward the stables, Torley 
 looked again over the trunk of his sheltering tree, then 
 ducked quickly. Two horsemen were in view now, thun- 
 dering down the road. They were not sparing of their 
 mounts, either, a hint that they counted on a fresh relay 
 at the inn. The outlaw had chosen his place well, for it 
 commanded the crossways, the Pratt House and the roads 
 that led away from it, north, south, east and west. 
 
 Torley could see surprisingly well in the star light, as 
 the riders drew near. One galloped in advance, perhaps 
 ten yards, while the other kept hugging the side of the 
 way, evidently doing what he could to dodge the lumps of 
 snow tossed back by the leader's driving hoofs. Both men 
 were armed, the first horseman with pistols, the second 
 with a short blunderbuss strapped over his shoulder. He, 
 too, carried heavy holsters at his pummel, marking him as 
 the guard. Cloaks muffled them against the cold of mid- 
 night. 
 
 It was not for that, however, that Torley searched, as 
 he sought to keep under cover and see as much as he could 
 at the same time. Ah, there he had it! The men were 
 abreast of him now, easing their horses at sight of the inn 
 and the moving light by the stables. Close tied to the 
 cantle of the leader's saddle was the outline of a bulky 
 roll the sort of leather bag used by post boys on the 
 road. That was the gold! Torley smiled at the ease of 
 his trick. Then he cocked his pistol.
 
 1 86 SANDY FLASH 
 
 The riders jogged past within twenty yards of the man's 
 position. Torley could hear the faint complainings of 
 their saddles, as the leather stretched and gave to the play 
 of the horses' gait. He could catch the sharper tinkle of 
 curb chains on the cheeks and the occasional click of a 
 spur buckle next a stirrup. All the little indescribable 
 sounds of horsemen and their gear. He saw the breath 
 rings blowing wide from the animals' nostrils, as they 
 reached at their reins and pricked ears for the warm stalls 
 beyond. So near was he that he could have shot either 
 of them with scarcely an aim, but he knew the game he 
 was playing and waited for the change of mounts at the 
 stable. Once the gold in that leather cantle roll was on 
 the fresh horse and the man in the saddle, then it would 
 be time enough to deal with the guard. 
 
 Torley's part in the plot called for skill and no one 
 knew it better than he. If he fired a second too soon, the 
 courier might dash back for the safety of the inn. If he 
 fired too late, he might miss the guard altogether. His 
 task was to make the horsemen think the attack had come 
 from the tavern to force them to flee from it. The out- 
 law half wondered whether it would not have been better 
 to have held by Flash's original scheme and fallen upon 
 the men, three to two, at the ford, far away from any 
 possible help. It was too late for that now, of course. 
 
 The scant time lost in changing horses gave token of 
 the value the couriers set upon speed. They swung from 
 their saddles before they left the road. Torley could see 
 them loosening their girths, as the horses moved toward 
 the stables. The light reappeared in answer to a hail, and 
 the hostler ran into the yard. A moment later, he dis-
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE PRATT 187 
 
 appeared again, leaving the lantern on the ground. Tor- 
 ley steadied the long-barreled pistol on the log and aimed 
 calmly, deliberately, swinging his sights from one to the 
 other as the two men moved about, unsaddling. Just as 
 the stable boy came into the lantern glow, pulling the 
 fresh post horses behind him by their halter shanks, the 
 inn door opened again and another man came out. Tor- 
 ley did not know him, though, as a matter of fact, it was 
 the keeper of the tavern. 
 
 The four men spoke together in low tones, so low that 
 the outlaw could not catch a word, but he could see that 
 they were in a hurry from the manner in which the bridles 
 were slipped over the animals' heads and the saddles re- 
 girthed. Then the hostler picked up the light and held it 
 high, as one of the men felt at the buckle of his throat- 
 latch and let it out a hole. Silently they mounted and 
 turned from the yard. Torley covered the guard, moving 
 his pistol carefully as the horsemen came toward him out 
 the gate. He could not miss. The light was advantageous 
 here, throwing both men and horses into black silhouettes. 
 The man with the cantle roll turned to the left on the 
 Goshen way, gathered reins and clicked to his mount. 
 Torley waited an instant, noted that they were taking up 
 the same positions they had followed in coming to the inn, 
 then saw the leader's horse start with impatience at the 
 touch of roweled spur. He paused a few seconds more 
 and knew that the time had come. He fired. It was 
 almost point blank. His arm was steady. 
 
 That was the shot that came to the ears of Dave and 
 Bob Allyn, as they hastened up the hill from the west. 
 At the flash of the flintlock, the leading horseman, he who
 
 188 SANDY FLASH 
 
 had been on the point of a gallop anyway, drove both 
 spurs into his mount's flanks with a slashing rip. Down 
 the slope he charged with never a glance behind, past the 
 unseen lads in the ditch, round the bend and out of sight. 
 The innkeeper shouted and turned for the door of the 
 house, seeking a weapon. The hostler, almost in direct 
 line of fire from Torley's pistol, saw the flash across the 
 road, caught a passing second's blur of white face behind 
 it, as the powder flared in the pan, then dropped his lan- 
 tern and ran. It was quite the wisest thing he could have 
 done, for Torley had let go the firearm the instant he had 
 pulled the trigger, and reached for another in his belt. A 
 blind shot from the landlord in the doorway had been the 
 second report heard by the boys. 
 
 Torley had paid no heed to it, whatever, but calmly 
 discharged his fresh pistol along the Goshen Road. It 
 was this which had sent its leaden slug pinging just over 
 the heads of the two lads. Torley had purposely fired 
 wide. He did not see Bob or Dave at all, but wanted to 
 make sure that the courier would not risk coming back 
 to help the other man. 
 
 The guard lay on the ground, pinned beneath his dying 
 horse. The bullet had entered the poor beast's body 
 back of the shoulder and bowled it over before the startled 
 rider could jump clear. At first Torley had intended to 
 aim at the man, then at the last moment he had unac- 
 countably lowered his sights and shot for the horse. It 
 would serve his purpose quite as well and, after all, save 
 needless murder. Seeing the animal down, lashing out 
 its life in spasmodic kicks, and the man fast in the stir- 
 rup irons, unable to rise, Torley replaced the pistols in
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE PRATT 189 
 
 his belt and ran for the shelter of the trees before the 
 people at the tavern could rally to pursue him. He wanted 
 to reach his horse and from that point of safety await de- 
 velopments. 
 
 By the time Dave and Bob Allyn had raced up to the 
 Pratt House, slowed in their efforts by the metal round 
 their ankles, the innkeeper was out in the yard, reloading 
 his flintlock and peering across the white-gleaming fields 
 for some sign of the lone attacker. The stable boy had 
 returned from the shelter of the sheds. The lantern had 
 been overturned in the rush and gone out, so the landlord 
 sent the hostler on the run for another light. Then he 
 and the boys hurried over to the man in the road, still 
 pinned close beneath the struggling horse. The poor 
 brute stiffened convulsively, as they neared him, and 
 seemed to hold its breath. Then with a groaning sigh, 
 long drawn and truly piteous to hear, it twisted its head 
 and neck far up over its back. A slow shudder shook the 
 body and the head thudded limp, while the legs extended 
 to their full length. The lips strained back from the teeth 
 in ghastly fashion and the agony passed. Bob, seeing the 
 animal was done for, bent to drag the man from beneath. 
 The death of the horse and the blood-stained snow made 
 the boy weak, for a moment, and a little sick, but he kept 
 well in hand and fought it off. 
 
 "Where are you hurt? Did it were you hit, too?" 
 Only then did the lad see that the man lay heavily, not at- 
 tempting to extricate himself. "I say, Dave, he is hurt! 
 We'll have to roll the horse off him. Quick! Maybe he's 
 shot somewheres ! Pull at his cape ! " 
 
 It was a well-nigh impossible effort as one can realize
 
 I 9 o SANDY FLASH 
 
 who has tried to move such a mass of limp and unman- 
 ageable weight, but between the four of them, they suc- 
 ceeded at last and drew out the unconscious form. The 
 man was not badly injured, as they saw to their relief, 
 once they had gotten him clear. His head had struck 
 heavily in falling, knocking him out for the time being. 
 His eyes opened, as they eased him to the snow. Evi- 
 dently he recognized the innkeeper, for he struggled to sit 
 up. Then he felt at the side of his head and motioned 
 toward the horse. 
 
 "The saddle! Hurry!" The man tried desperately to 
 rise. "The oh, can't you get it! They'll be back 
 caugh ah ugh " He groaned, reached awkwardly for 
 his forehead and fainted a second time in the hostler's 
 arms. 
 
 Dave's ear alone caught hint of meaning, as the mutter 
 trailed off into snoring gasps of unconsciousness. He saw 
 Bob and the innkeeper working hurriedly to unloosen the 
 man's neckerchief. He felt the hostler shift his position 
 and let the body settle back against his knee. Dave 
 glanced toward the guard's face. It was blue-gray and 
 drawn in the lamp light. The boy had a working knowl- 
 edge of accidents and realized that the blow, as the horse 
 fell, must have given the poor fellow a slight concussion. 
 A trickle of blood at the nostrils confirmed this. It would 
 be many minutes at best before the man could speak. The 
 catching breath alone told that. 
 
 Saying nothing, unnoticed by the others, Dave slipped 
 round the little group, crossed the road and dropped to 
 his knees at the side of the dead horse. There, the lad
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE PRATT 191 
 
 felt for the girth straps beneath the flaps. He would 
 pull the whole thing off, if he could, and lug it to the 
 house himself. However, he saw almost instantly that 
 there were no bags there. Bewildered, he began to feel 
 over the leather in the star light. The man had certainly 
 mumbled about his saddle the moment he had regained 
 consciousness. Dave knew he had not imagined it or 
 heard wrongly. Then the pistol holsters caught his eye 
 and the boy's mind whipped back to Peter Burgandine 
 and the ruse the old farmer from Newlin had played so 
 cleverly on the Edgemont Road. Seizing the butt of the 
 one he could reach, Dave pulled it free and drove his 
 hand deep in the case. The bulky holster, made to house 
 a horse-pistol, ammunition and all, was empty. 
 
 Again the lad worked at the girths. He would get the 
 saddle off at any rate. It was in lifting the flaps of the 
 old-fashioned skirts that he noted their weight. The trick 
 began to dawn upon him, even before he could feel and 
 bend the heavy leather. Dave slipped his hands along the 
 inner lining, then whistled softly. He had heard enough 
 from Sandy Flash and his men to know that it was minted 
 coin they were after, sovereigns of the king. He had it 
 now beneath his fingers gold, heavy gold, more of it 
 than he had ever dreamed of. 
 
 It was a simple trick and a very old one that the 
 courier and his guard had played. The guard was the 
 man who carried the treasure concealed in the leather 
 skirts of his saddle and in the paneling of the tree. The 
 whole thing had been slit for the purpose, then stitched 
 fast. The plan was to divert attention in case of trouble
 
 i 9 2 SANDY FLASH 
 
 to the saddle roll shown conspicuously at the cantle of 
 the leading rider. This was empty. If they were stopped 
 during their midnight gallop, there would be some chance 
 for the guard to make good his escape, while the other 
 was the center of interest on the part of the attackers. As 
 a matter of fact, both men felt that their main reliance 
 lay in speed and secrecy. The utterly unlooked-for on- 
 slaught at the inn, within help of the people there, had up- 
 set their well-conceived arrangement. The first horse- 
 man had naturally taken it for treachery on the part of 
 the landlord, and had gotten clear as fast as he could. 
 The one with the gold did not know at the time what had 
 occurred beyond the flash and the fall of his horse. He 
 was a luckier man than he imagined, for Torley's action 
 in aiming at the animal, not himself, was entirely on the 
 spur of the moment. 
 
 Dave raised his head to call Bob, then first became 
 aware that he was by himself. The three figures near the 
 light had picked up the unconscious man and were mov- 
 ing with him across the yard, dragging him on his heavy 
 riding cloak. Thanks to Bob's size and strength, and 
 despite his wounded arm, they were managing to move 
 the burden without calling on Dave for help. The younger 
 boy glanced up and down the Newtown lane. The way 
 was clear, but it would not do to leave the saddle where 
 it was unguarded. Two or three minutes were required 
 before the under flap tore loose from the dead bulk of 
 the horse upon it and the boy was able to drag it toward 
 the inn. The whole thing, saddle, holsters and gold, was 
 more than he could lift clear of the ground. 
 
 Had Dave looked to the northeast, across the low fence,
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE PRATT 193 
 
 he would never have walked so calmly through the yard, 
 nor would he have paused to grip the saddle with one hand, 
 while he raised the lantern with the other. The land- 
 lord had left it in the snow. As it was, he did not even 
 hear the click of Torley's pistol, as the man cocked it 
 twenty yards away. 
 
 The outlaw had run for shelter the moment he had 
 seen the guard's horse fall in answer to his shot. From 
 the shadows of a neighboring spinney, he had watched 
 the man and the boys gather to the aid of the helpless 
 rider. At that distance, he had no way of recognizing 
 Dave or Bob. Indeed, he had long since forgotten all 
 about the lads held prisoners in the cave at Castle Rock. 
 It was only when he noted Dave leaving the group near 
 the light and beginning to work over the saddle that he 
 dared venture nearer. He was half persuaded to turn 
 back, mount his horse and circling the inn, canter to the 
 ford, perhaps in time to be of help there. When the boy 
 bent quickly down, however, and seemed to be pulling at 
 something heavy, the man could resist no longer. It 
 would do no harm to satisfy his curiosity and great good 
 might come of it. Sandy Flash and Dougherty were well 
 qualified to take care of one scared man between them. 
 
 Stepping lightly on the damp snow, he dodged across 
 the field and slid to cover at the log, where first he had 
 established his lookout. From here he watched Dave 
 jerk the saddle loose and start for the tavern. Then it was 
 he cocked his pistol, half raising it. He could not be sure 
 what the boy was about. That the gold was actually there, 
 almost within his reach, he had no way of guessing. Tor- 
 ley hesitated, then slipped over the fence line to the road.
 
 194 SANDY FLASH 
 
 This time his pistol was leveled, steady and sure, as Dave's 
 outline sprang into sharp distinctness against the flood 
 of light from the Pratt House door. 
 
 Meanwhile, the man with the saddle roll had done ex- 
 actly what Sandy Flash had hoped galloped fast as ever 
 he could lay hoof to ground down the Goshen Road, up 
 the rise to Brook's Wood, then over the hill to Echo 
 Valley and the Crum Creek ford below. His horse was 
 fresh and he made the most of it, sparing neither crop 
 nor spur. For the first furlong, he did not realize that 
 he was alone, that his companion had gone down under the 
 shot. Had he known it, he would have reined up short 
 and fought his way back to help him, for the man had 
 courage. When he saw what had happened, it was too late 
 to return in the face of what appeared a clear enough at- 
 tack from the inn. His one chance now lay in riding on 
 to the next change, giving the alarm and trying to get back 
 before the gold in the saddle had been discovered. That 
 he was not the one shot at surprised him. 
 
 At the ford, he eased his mount and played unwittingly, 
 fatally, into Flash's hands by letting the animal suck up 
 a swallow or so between his bits. It was while off guard 
 thus, near the juncture of the Boot and Goshen Roads, 
 that the highwaymen sprang their dastardly ambuscade 
 upon him. The cowardly affair was shorter than it takes 
 to tell it. A shot from the cedars, a rearing plunge of the 
 horse amid the spray of the ford, a cry that choked off 
 in a horrible sucking moan that was all. Flash dragged 
 the man from the water, while Dougherty caught at the 
 flying reins and pulled the beast to a halt further up the
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE PRATT 195 
 
 road. The two men bent over the courier. He had a 
 bullet through the neck. Two minutes after the flash of 
 the flintlock, he was dead, mercifully spared from suffer- 
 ing, never even knowing what hidden blow had struck him 
 from the saddle. 
 
 A little later, Flash tossed aside the man's waistcoat. 
 He had searched the body from head to foot, he had gone 
 over the horse's tack, sparing nothing. In a white passion 
 of anger, he had ripped the empty roll from the cantle 
 and hurled it to the creek but first he had blown the 
 acrid smoke from his pistol barrel and reloaded. 
 
 "It's Torley that's ruined the whole thing! The bloody 
 fool, I might have known it! " There followed a stream of 
 vituperation whose filth kept even Mordecai silent. "Well, 
 what are ye standin' there lookin' at me for? The gold's 
 still gold, ain't it? It's not ours yet, is it? Think I like 
 killin' a man for the sport of it! Huh?" Flash turned 
 irritably from the quiet face in the snow. The eyes 
 stared too fixedly, too wonderingly upward above the 
 horror of the blood-soaked stock. He did not want to re- 
 member those eyes. "Ye're damned well mistaken, Mort! 
 Run quick for the nags at Castle Rock, ye fool, an' stop 
 your wall-eyed starin'! I'll bide here for Torley or case 
 the other fellow comes! Run! The gold's at the Pratt 
 House, man, I tell ye, an' we're goin' there to get it!" 
 
 Dougherty turned and bolted through the trees. 
 
 Two miles to the east, Dave was, at this moment, pull- 
 ing the heavy saddle across the tavern threshold. On en- 
 tering, he found himself in a small room to the right of 
 the bar. The flicker of a candle on the taproom ceiling 
 told him where the injured guard had been carried. He
 
 196 SANDY FLASH 
 
 could hear Bob's voice there and the hum of the inn- 
 keeper's tones, but before joining them, his first move 
 was to shut and bar the east door. The one to the north 
 was already fast. Little did he suspect the nearness of 
 the man outside or that he himself had been within an ace 
 of death. Torley's better judgment had saved the boy, 
 as the outlaw saw the folly of stirring up a hornet's nest 
 single-handed and perhaps to no purpose. If they had to 
 force the place, they would do it together, Flash and Mort 
 to help him. No doubt the gold was safe in his friends' 
 hands by now, anyway. He held his fire and slipped into 
 the shadow of the tavern wall. 
 
 The door fast barred, Dave breathed more freely, 
 though little there was to disturb him in the midnight 
 calm. He hurried across the room, scraping the saddle 
 after him on the cleanly sanded floor. At the door to the 
 taproom, he saw Bob standing beside a long settee on 
 which they had stretched the guard. The hostler and the 
 innkeeper were working over his head with some sort of 
 a wet bandage. Dave wondered vaguely how they could 
 have gotten it so soon. He saw the man was still uncon- 
 scious, breathing in long-drawn snores that rattled alarm- 
 ingly in his throat. 
 
 The innkeeper heard the boy at the door and swung 
 about. In the excitement that followed, the hostler was 
 left to bind up the guard's head, while Bob and the land- 
 lord helped Dave rip the saddle. A glance was enough. 
 The gold was there, far more than seemed possible in so 
 small a space, but the work had been done cleverly and 
 the saddle was a huge, old-fashioned affair to begin with.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE PRATT 197 
 
 The landlord pointed to the little cut they had made in 
 the leather, where the sovereigns glinted through. 
 
 "We can't have this lying round, that's one thing," 
 he shook his head. "He must have known of it, the devil 
 that fired. More'n I did! All they bothered telling me 
 was to have the post change ready for two and stout 
 fresh horses at that. They never so much as hinted what 
 was being carried, the ones who ordered the relay didn't!" 
 
 "Oh, Flash had it all from some fellow in the town. 
 They knew the whole thing. We heard 'em!" 
 
 "Yes, and the other one " 
 
 "Flash!" the landlord cried out in startled wonderment. 
 "Sandy Flash! What's this you're saying? Quick, lad, 
 speak quick!" 
 
 Between them, the boys enlightened him as far as they 
 were able, telling of the plot to seize the gold as they had 
 heard it from Torley's report to Flash. The older man 
 knew a good deal of the outlaw from past experience. His 
 forehead furrowed deeply, as he heard the name of Sandy 
 Flash repeated and realized the gravity of what was tak- 
 ing place. Interrupting their story, he dropped the sad- 
 dle and called to his helper in tones full of anxiety. He 
 made no effort to conceal how he felt. 
 
 "Quick, Jim! It's Sandy Flash again! I might have 
 guessed it. They'll be on us any minute, when they miss 
 the gold! The bench, there, shove it against the door! 
 Run, lad, look to the windows! See to the back door and 
 the one in the hall that gives on Goshen Road! We'll 
 hold 'em off! Boys, you'll have to help. We've a gun 
 or two somewheres! Hunt 'em up, Jim! Take the settle
 
 i 9 8 SANDY FLASH 
 
 to the hall and make a barricade! Quick, before they rush 
 us! Don't bother with that fellow's head, he'll come 
 round all right. Pile some chairs there!" 
 
 The boys did as they were ordered. The heavy settee, 
 reinforced with an upturned table, was shoved against the 
 main door, while the other was blocked with ale kegs. It 
 was the best they could do. The brew was heavy enough, 
 at that, rich country making. The hostler, Jim, ran 
 quickly from window to window, testing the oaken bars; 
 the landlord hastened upstairs to reassure his wife and 
 see that she kept out of danger. As he came down, he 
 beckoned to Dave. 
 
 "We'll show 'em a fight, lad! I learned a thing or two 
 about it once! They'll be breaking in any minute now, 
 like as not, but we'll be good and ready for 'em! Better 
 get this out of the way, though, first," he pointed to the 
 saddle on the floor. "Do you mind the pit I showed you 
 last time you were here? The " 
 
 "Under the kitchen closet?" The secret chamber 
 where the landlord had hidden his silver while Old Bur- 
 gandine held the light, flashed instantly into the boy's 
 mind. "Oh, yes, it's back there!" 
 
 "Well, get the gold in it quick as ever you can, boy! 
 You'll find the ladder somewhere. I must help the others. 
 Here, Jim, run quick with him! Seen to the windows? 
 Good! Hurry! They may be close about us now ! Bet- 
 ter keep back from the light 
 
 The four defenders were determined to make the best 
 of it and hold the tavern. The silence and the calm out- 
 side did not encourage them at all nor mislead them into 
 supposing that there would be no further trouble. Rather
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE PRATT 199 
 
 it worked upon their nerves and made it all the harder 
 for them to wait, inactive and tense, expecting something 
 to happen. The landlord, whispering his orders, crouched 
 behind a pile of upturned furniture in the hall, flintlock 
 in hand. Bob, armed with an old-time fowling piece, was 
 in the taproom, watching the windows. Jim, the hostler, 
 had a leaded hunting crop which he carried with him, as 
 he accompanied Dave to the kitchen in the rear. All to- 
 gether, it was not much by way of armament, but then 
 the walls of the old stone inn were thick and the doors 
 and windows barred with oak. Best of all, the little 
 party had courage. The landlord had not gone in vain 
 to Louisburg Siege in the old days of '45. He was of 
 fighting stock and aimed to prove it now as he had with 
 PepperelPs New Englanders. 
 
 Dave hurried through the dim hallway, felt his steps 
 across the kitchen, and sank to his knees at the closet, 
 prying for the boards he knew would lift. 
 
 Had he not been shown the secret of loosening them 
 on his former visit, he never could have released them 
 now. Even so, he took a great deal longer than he should 
 have, wasting time in nervous haste. When the flooring 
 had been moved, Dave grabbed the saddle with a sigh of 
 relief and slung it over the black pit. His hand clasped 
 the slit in the leather to hold the packed coins in place. 
 Then suddenly he thought better of it, dragging it back. 
 
 "I reckon I'd better take it down myself, hadn't I, 
 not drop it and spill all the gold? We'd never get it 
 gathered again. Where's the ladder he had, Jim?" 
 
 Making as little noise as they could, the man and boy 
 searched by touch until they had found it behind a tall
 
 200 SANDY FLASH 
 
 dresser in the corner. To lower it into the pit through 
 the narrow opening was harder than they had anticipated, 
 but they got it in place at last and Dave went down. The 
 stone-walled space below was inky black, damp, earthy. 
 The boy groped about for the sides, feeling his way inch 
 by inch as his fingers touched the sweat of masonry. It 
 was slimy like snails and he shuddered. The darkness was 
 more than lack of light down there. It was a smothering 
 pall, heavy, devoid of life. Dave completed the circle of 
 the room and felt his way back to the ladder, his out- 
 stretched arms waving before him like antennae. 
 
 As he grasped the lower rungs, vastly relieved, he called 
 to the hostler above in a thin whisper, a bit uncertain. 
 The silence and the dark had crushed the vitality out of 
 him, what was left after the ordeal he had been through 
 already that night. 
 
 "Hurry, lower me the saddle, will you! Quick, Jim, 
 I can reach it from here and ease it down ! " 
 
 There was no reply. Fearful of raising his voice fur- 
 ther, Dave began to climb upward. He regretted that he 
 had wasted any time at all stumbling about in the murk 
 of the pit. Better if he had tossed down the gold and 
 been done with it, whether it spilt all over the place 
 below or not. The hostler must have slipped away to 
 join the others for some reason. 
 
 Dave listened. The tavern was still, still as death. He 
 climbed a rung higher, felt for the saddle and pulled it 
 toward him. The noise it made scraping on the sand of 
 the floor seemed deafening. Dave's heart thumped pain- 
 fully. In a kind of quick panic, he worked the heavy 
 thing through the opening, pushed it to one side and let
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE PRATT 201 
 
 go. The boy's nerves had frayed again and he knew he 
 would have to scream aloud if he did not get rid of the 
 saddle, if he did not get out of the place and that right 
 soon. He wanted to be with the others, to see them, 
 anything but this black pitch of terror that pressed in 
 on him from every side. 
 
 Just as he pulled his body half through the trapway, 
 fighting gamely to keep his nerve in hand, a sound from 
 the kitchen door sent the lad's heart fluttering once more 
 against his ribs, choking him, stifling him with fright he 
 could not control. The noise was faint, indescribably 
 low, a mere thread of sound, yet unmistakable. Some one 
 was working at the wooden bar, working at it steadily 
 from the outside. 
 
 The boy hesitated a second, then by a convulsive twist 
 of his body got clear of the ladder. He was too late. The 
 door across the darkened room had opened.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 THE LOST TRAIL 
 
 THE first hint of danger that came to the landlord 
 was when hostler Jim slipped into the hall and 
 whispered excitedly that he thought he had heard some 
 one at the rear door. The young fellow wanted to bor- 
 row his master's gun, but the man insisted on going him- 
 self and so lost a precious moment or two in warning Bob. 
 The boy would have to shift his position from the tap- 
 room and guard the front hall with its two doors. That 
 was the weak point in their defense. The defenders of 
 the inn had waited in such a strain of silence that they 
 were jumpy, nervous, fearful of a trick. Sure that the 
 front was being taken care of, the innkeeper and the 
 hostler tiptoed back to help Dave get the gold into the 
 room below without further delay. That done and the 
 flooring in place, they could barricade the kitchen door, if 
 necessary. The innkeeper knew that Jim had long since 
 seen to the great oak bar that crossed from jamb to jamb, 
 resting in sockets of hand-wrought iron. 
 
 As they felt their way through the hall, the hostler in 
 front caught the scraping noise of Dave pulling the sad- 
 dle toward the trap, but he feared to call out to him. If 
 the outlaws were close at hand, it would be just as well to 
 let their welcome come as much of a surprise as possible. 
 The lad gripped his crop far down by the loop and swung 
 back the loaded butt. It was not a weapon to be passed 
 
 202
 
 THE LOST TRAIL 203 
 
 by lightly. At the hall door leading into the kitchen, he 
 paused. The darkness was impenetrable. Not even the 
 windows could be placed, their gray outline blotted by 
 heavy shutters. 
 
 Jim held his breath and listened. He knew that the 
 saddle had been dragged down the trapway, but that was 
 all. The place was heavy with silence, black, ominous, 
 oppressive. Nervously he strained for some hint of Dave 
 on the ladder, so that he could whisper a warning. The 
 landlord, stepping as lightly as he could, edged forward 
 beside him, clutching his flintlock, peering vainly into the 
 dark. Even the banked fire on the hearth was invisible. 
 He, too, tried to make out some sound, breathing through 
 his mouth and swallowing in little pants of excitement, as 
 he bent forward. 
 
 "I can't hear a thing, Jim. What do you say? Get the 
 Thomas lad from the closet, then push the table agin the 
 door. Hey? Quick! If they try to rush us, it'll be hot! " 
 
 "Ssh! I'll go 'cross the room and tell the boy first. 
 He's still below! We've got to get the ladder out, too, and 
 put the boards down before they begin to shoot!" 
 
 The hostler ceased speaking, his fingers tense on the 
 heavy hunting crop. Across the pall of darkness from the 
 outside door came the same scratching he had heard when 
 first he had slipped away for aid. Unconsciously, he 
 clutched with his free hand at the innkeeper's arm to at- 
 tract his attention. The older man shook the lad off, as he 
 cocked his piece. He, too, had heard. This was his 
 kitchen they were trying to enter, his own tavern, and he 
 proposed to show them something they had not counted on. 
 The man's anger had been aroused in earnest. The trick
 
 204 SANDY FLASH 
 
 of the candlestick rankled sore in his mind, ever since 
 Flash had humiliated the posse and escaped, not so long 
 before. 
 
 "Slip back, Jim, lad, you've got no gun! They're try- 
 ing to work loose the bar of the door! Hist! Get thee 
 back, they're coming in!" 
 
 The voice was barely audible, but the hostler could 
 make out enough to shake his head stubbornly in the 
 gloom. He stood where he was. "I'm all right, sir. Ready 
 for 'em with the leaded end o' me crop! I think they're 
 slidin' up the bar with a knife or something! Sounds 
 like it." 
 
 "Don't let 'em hear us, Jim! It's halfway loose they've 
 gotten it already. Let 'em open it all the way, now, lad, 
 and we'll give it to 'em hot and heavy when they least ex- 
 pect it! Get back, I tell you, they'll be shooting next!" 
 
 "Hush! The boy's comin' up the ladder now! I'll 
 have to get him stopped ! " 
 
 Everything happened so quickly from then on that the 
 Battle of the Pratt, as Dave called it afterward, was over 
 before either he or Bob Allyn knew what was taking 
 place. The outer door moved open just as the boy on the 
 ladder pulled himself onto his hands and knees, free of 
 the trapway. He saw the widening strip of gray, as the 
 reflection from the star light on the snow broke the dark- 
 ness of the room. Simultaneously, he heard Jim's whisper 
 from the inner door and knew that he was not alone. He 
 also realized that there was no time to think of replacing 
 the flooring of the closet. Dave dropped flat on his face, 
 as the kitchen flamed and rocked to the thunderous roar 
 of the innkeeper's flintlock. Then came the smoke, black
 
 THE LOST TRAIL 205 
 
 clouds of it, filling the place with the reek of gunpowder, 
 acid, choking, stinging the eyes. Dave, seeing he was 
 between the lines of fire, followed the only course open to 
 him and hugged the floor. He might well have stood up, 
 for the battle was nearly over. 
 
 Torley had gotten his fill of a Pratt House welcome! 
 When he had seen Dave dragging the saddle into the tav- 
 ern, he had slipped across the road and disappeared into 
 the shadows of the wall. From here, he had listened at 
 the door and again at the windows of the building. 
 Though he could make out no words through the thick- 
 ness of shutters, he could hear sounds enough from within 
 to convince him that something had put the people there 
 on guard. Perplexed, he began to wonder whether the 
 lad he had seen with the saddle could possibly have caught 
 sight of him beyond the fence and yet have had the cour- 
 age and coolness to walk calmly up to the door with his 
 heavy burden. That set the man thinking. Why had 
 the boy taken so much trouble with that same saddle? 
 Heavy it was, undoubtedly, and hard to pull along, but 
 bare of cantle roll or bags. The other horseman had car- 
 ried that. Torley was quite sure of it. Then it was that 
 he thought of the back door. He would look into the 
 thing a little further before joining Sandy Flash, past 
 Echo Valley. 
 
 The rest was easy. Reassured by the darkness within, 
 and the silence, that no one was on guard in the kitchen, 
 the man had slipped the blade of his long knife between 
 the door and the jamb. He did not know whether he 
 would be able to force an entrance that way or not, but 
 he felt that it would, at least, do no harm to try. It was
 
 206 SANDY FLASH 
 
 somewhat to his surprise, when he located the oaken bar 
 and realized that he could work it from its sockets. And 
 readily enough, too. After all, many doors in the coun- 
 try depended, like this one, on bars, as locks were looked 
 upon as a needless luxury. Torley's luck was still hold- 
 ing fair. The heavy bar slipped free with a jolt. 
 
 Torley replaced the knife in its sheath, drew his pistol 
 and pushed the door quietly inward. Then he stepped 
 across the threshold and paused to accustom his eyes to 
 the darkness, as he sought to get his bearings. Before he 
 could stir, the innkeeper had fired. It was as much the 
 vivid flash and the startling surprise of it as anything 
 else, that sent Torley staggering backward, his own 
 weapon still clutched in his hand trigger unpulled. Hard 
 upon the powder flare came the whang of the leaden bullet 
 as it splintered the jamb beside him, that, and the report 
 of the flintlock, magnified many fold by the narrow walls 
 and low-raftered ceiling of the room. The man clapped a 
 hand to his bloody cheek where a sliver of wood had 
 ripped it to the bone, then turned and leaped through 
 the door with a low curse of pain. As the sweep of his 
 cloak filled the gray rectangle of light, Jim came to life 
 and action. Instant, darting speed hurled him through 
 the air like the bound of a catamount. 
 
 The stable boy had started toward the closet, when the 
 door began to open. As the man entered, Jim had hesi- 
 tated, fearful to move lest he betray Dave and the secret 
 room below. Then the landlord had fired and the outlaw 
 had turned to flee. Jim knew his time had come. Two 
 great springs brought the lad to the doorway. Up swung 
 the crop in a whistling arc. The boy struck, struck with
 
 THE LOST TRAIL 207 
 
 all the power of his arm. Not in vain had he strapped 
 and rubbed and curried horses since he was a little lad. 
 Had the leaded butt fallen on the man's head it would 
 have brained him. No hat could have turned the weighted 
 momentum of such a blow. There was a terrific impact 
 and the ash plant split in pieces. Jim had swung too 
 high, the leaded end had crushed in the lintel. Before he 
 could recover, the courageous lad pitched headlong to the 
 snow without, the broken remnant of the crop fast 
 clutched in his fist. 
 
 Quick as a flash, Torley whipped about. He knew he 
 was beaten. He knew his failure had lost all chance for 
 Sandy Flash and Dougherty to effect a successful attack 
 backed by surprise. In a blind rage of fear and disap- 
 pointment, he sought to tear his pistol clear of the cape 
 fold entangling it. He would account for one at the inn 
 anyway. He would pay the score of his bleeding cheek. 
 The man cursed vilely, for the hampering cloak clung fast 
 about his arm and he could not snatch it loose. With a 
 final wrench, the weapon swung free. Torley's finger 
 gripped for the cocking piece of the trigger. In the strug- 
 gle, it was small wonder, however, that he had lost the 
 priming. The flint scattered vain sparks and Torley slung 
 the long pistol about to catch it by the muzzle. Then 
 with the curved handle and butt upraised, a vicious, crip- 
 pling bludgeon, he sprang for the hostler. Jim still lay 
 face downward, knocked breathless in the snow. 
 
 The stable boy owed his life to Dave Thomas. Before 
 Jim could know what Torley was about, before he him- 
 self could possibly have warded off the blow from the 
 mace-like pistol, Dave had reached the door and taken
 
 208 SANDY FLASH 
 
 in the situation. He dove at the man with no thought, 
 no plan, just hurled his whole body at the ruffian's knees. 
 The two came down in a kicking, struggling pile, to be 
 joined an instant later by Jim, who pitched into the fight 
 with a fury that speedily brought the man to terms. That 
 was the end. Two minutes more and the landlord had 
 gotten the outlaw tied to a chair, Jim, Bob and Dave as- 
 sisting. There was little pugnacity left in the fellow. He 
 understood his danger pretty well. 
 
 Before bringing him indoors, however, the flooring of 
 the kitchen closet had been carefully replaced and the 
 door shut. Torley refused to speak when questioned, 
 nursing his torn cheek in silence, so they had to content 
 themselves with a renewed watch. Jim and Dave took 
 the rear door again, this time fastening the bar so that it 
 could not be pried so easily from its sockets. Jim waited 
 till he had everything fixed to his satisfaction, then he 
 crossed the room and held out his hand. He was ill at 
 ease, but determined to acknowledge his debt to the boy 
 whose wit and action had saved his life. 
 
 "Thanks, Dave Thomas. I ain't so good at talking but 
 that there dive o' your'n bowled him over jist about in 
 time for to guard me brains. Hopes you know I oh ; 
 how I ah, shucks, you understand, I reckon " 
 
 "Don't be thanking me," Dave reddened uncomfort- 
 ably. Of all things in the world, he most dreaded a scene. 
 "We've done pretty well, to-night, all of us, and I reckon 
 we'll be able to hold out, too. Do you think Flash and 
 Dougherty'11'come here when they guess the gold's still 
 at the inn and this fellow of theirs doesn't show up? 
 They'll begin to suspect something pretty soon."
 
 THE LOST TRAIL; 209 
 
 At a sign from Jim, Dave bit his lip. He had forgotten 
 all about the outlaw in the chair. To cover up, he talked 
 on hurriedly, taking care to make no further mention of 
 the treasure. It was not lost upon the boy, however, that 
 the man had heard. Uneasily he realized that he had be- 
 trayed his own identity. Up to this, Torley had never 
 connected Dave or Bob, either, with the lads he had seen 
 on Castle Rock. Now it seemed as though he must be 
 sure of it. 
 
 It was after two in the morning, when the landlord re- 
 turned to the kitchen. He had decided to risk letting 
 the boys get some sleep. He and the hostler could take 
 turns on guard. Indeed, it was high time for relief, as 
 Dave had already nodded off more than once, try as he 
 would to keep awake. Bob was even more exhausted. 
 The shock of his wound had given way to the inevitable 
 reaction with the passing of excitement. He felt sick at 
 his stomach and weak. 
 
 The landlord carried in his hand a stout file. They had 
 all been so anxious, so fearful of a sudden rushing of the 
 doors, up to this hour, that none of them had spared a 
 moment's thought for the broken irons still tied to the 
 boys' ankles with the strips of blanket. A few moments 
 steady filing forced the rusty anklets apart and the metal 
 bands clinked to the floor. 
 
 "There! That'll feel a bit more comfortable, won't 
 it?" The man put the file on the mantelpiece and kicked 
 the leg irons toward the hearth. "Now you're ready for 
 a nip of sleep, the pair of you. Curl up yonder in the bar 
 where there're rugs a-plenty. I'll call if trouble comes. 
 In the morning, 'twill be time enough to worry getting
 
 210 SANDY FLASH 
 
 home. Your folks are sleeping sound right now, think- 
 ing you're biding the night in a farmhouse. Get a good 
 rest while you can." 
 
 No more urging was required to persuade them to lie 
 down on a pile of buffalo robes that the innkeeper spread 
 for them in the taproom. Before the man had left them, 
 they were fast asleep. The next they knew, the room 
 was full of light from opened shutters and the hall echoed 
 to the babbled tone of voices, high pitched with excite- 
 ment. It was seven o'clock and a clear, cold morning. 
 Not a trace of yesterday's fog was to be seen. 
 
 The boys soon learned that the innkeeper had taken 
 on the rounds of the lower rooms himself, as it drew 
 toward dawn, sending Jim on horseback to warn as many 
 neighbors as possible and to raise a posse. He had been 
 led to this by the pleas of the injured courier who had 
 recovered consciousness shortly after the capture of Tor- 
 ley. The man had explained to the landlord that it was a 
 question of government funds that were involved. He 
 had said that he and his companion had been warned es- 
 pecially to look out for Sandy Flash and to keep clear of 
 the Valley roads for that very reason, as the outlaw was 
 known to have a hidden stronghold in Cain Township 
 somewheres. Why Sandy Flash and Dougherty had not 
 come to Torley's aid and attacked the lonely inn to win 
 the gold, no one of the tired watchers could understand. 
 It was not like the usual way of the highwaymen. It 
 puzzled the landlord and made him uneasy. 
 
 He had no way of knowing of the murder of the first 
 courier or of Flash's haste in sending his accomplice back 
 to Castle Rock for the horses. What had occurred was
 
 THE LOST TRAIL 211 
 
 simple enough. Mordecai Dougherty had hurried off to 
 carry out the orders of his chief. He had gone to the 
 cave for a mislaid strap and there discovered the escape 
 of the boys. Five minutes' frantic galloping saw him with 
 Sandy Flash once more near the Crum Creek ford. The" 
 news he brought served to calm the outlaw's temper. The 
 man had not become the most notorious highwayman of 
 the countryside without learning the value of discretion. 
 None were more reckless, more daring, than he when he 
 saw the scene was set to play it to his gain. But he could 
 also tell when to bow before force of circumstance. In 
 this, lay the secret of his criminal success and long free- 
 dom from capture. The Pratt House would be warned by 
 now, he realized, whatever had happened to Torley there. 
 The boys, too, must already be raising an alarm in the 
 neighborhood on their own score. The escape from the 
 cave at Castle Rock settled it. That meant he had no 
 near-by retreat safe from pursuit. The time had come to 
 leave this end of the county and seek another of his lairs 
 to the west. 
 
 Disregarding Mordecai entirely, the blackguard left 
 the dead courier without so much as a glance and can- 
 tered through the ravine. There was no use now in con- 
 cealing his mount's footprints. The boys would be sure 
 to lead the chase to Castle Rock whatever care he used. 
 At the cave, Flash snatched his few belongings together, 
 crammed them into a saddle bag, rolled up his blanket 
 and crawled out once more to rejoin Dougherty below. 
 Then, leading the spare horse, he and the other galloped 
 west on the Strasburg Road toward Edgemont. He had 
 the boys' guns strapped securely to his own saddle. At
 
 212 SANDY FLASH 
 
 the crossways by the Providence lane, they parted, 
 Dougherty turning south, bent upon regaining the town 
 by roundabout ways and by-paths, Flash riding speedily 
 north toward White Horse Hill. He, too, soon left the 
 traveled road and took to the fields. Before doing so, 
 however, he turned loose the led horse and sent it gallop- 
 ing still further northward. When the pursuers had come 
 upon the trail, they would find two horses headed toward 
 the Valley. That might give them a wrong start, anyway. 
 As to Sandy Flash, he would be safe on his way to Newlin 
 or Marlborough in the west long before the sun was up. 
 If pushed by ill chance, he could go on as far as London- 
 derry, where no one would dream of running him down. 
 
 This was all unknown to the keeper of the Pratt House 
 tavern, of course, so the man did what he could and 
 called in the neighbors. It was their voices which had 
 aroused Dave and Bob in the morning. There were many 
 plans of what should be done first, but the innkeeper 
 wisely put an end to vain jangling by taking command 
 himself. He assigned to the courier the task of guarding 
 the gold where it was until he should come back. Par- 
 ticularly, he forbade mention of its hiding place being 
 made to any one. Then he saw that they all had a snatch 
 of breakfast and a piping hot dish of tea. This was to 
 be a hunt from dawn to dark and he wanted no one fall- 
 ing out before they had run their quarry to a kill. Last 
 of all, he borrowed mounts for Dave and Bob. He looked 
 dubiously at the latter's shoulder. The wound was 
 swollen and angry, for all its being but a flesh scratch. 
 
 "Lad, that's bad, powerful bad. You'd better have it 
 done up properly before the poison gets hold of it. Your
 
 THE LOST TRAIL 213 
 
 father knows well how to fix it. It's no shape for riding 
 all day and that's what we're like to do." 
 
 "I'll have it done up right, soon as ever I get me home," 
 Bob answered. "Dave and I've got to go along with you 
 far as the cave, you know, or you'd never find the way in. 
 Then we'll go on to the Rose Tree with the word of what 
 happened. Father'll come out and Hugh Thomas. Lots 
 of 'em. They can ride fast and catch up with the rest of 
 you. I'm all right!" 
 
 The boy was game. 
 
 Soon the cavalcade was ready to start. There were 
 over a dozen men in the posse from near-by farms, all 
 armed with guns or pistols. They felt that they were too 
 late to do any good, but it seemed the only course left 
 open. The innkeeper explained that it was after mid- 
 night when the attack had occurred and that it would 
 have been foolhardy to try and get word to them any 
 sooner than he had. He had need of all his little force to 
 guard the doors and windows, with a prospect of the rush 
 on the tavern taking place at any moment. Knowing 
 Sandy Flash, the men agreed with him. 
 
 The boys led the way with the warlike innkeeper along- 
 side, as they turned from the inn. At the end of Brook's 
 Wood, where the Goshen Road dips to Echo Valley on 
 the right, they could see plainly how the other horseman 
 had sunk the hill, galloping hard. Five minutes after- 
 wards their worst anxieties were confirmed by sight of 
 the looted body lying stark and cold, face upward in the 
 ditch. It was close by the thicket at Crum Creek ford 
 where the Boot Road runs in from the southeast. They 
 covered the murdered patriot with a horse cloth and hur-
 
 214 SANDY FLASH 
 
 ried southerly through the ravine. The boys pointed ex- 
 citedly to fresh hoofprints, as they went. A tight-lipped, 
 silent group of men surrounded the cave on Castle Rock, 
 working in upon it like skirmishers under the guidance of 
 Dave and Bob. The tavern keeper was the first to enter 
 the cavern itself. He claimed it as his due, being an old 
 soldier, trained to danger. 
 
 The place was cold and deserted. The only signs they 
 found to tell of the recent occupancy were ashes on the 
 hearthstone and a lost spur by the entrance. Flash had 
 dropped it as he hurried out. The landlord tossed it 
 angrily aside amid the rubbish. 
 
 The posse had soon remounted on the run and picked 
 up the tracks again in the lane below. They followed 
 them with little trouble to the Providence Road and saw 
 the parting there. So far all was clear as a printed page. 
 The men split without loss of time, one group galloping 
 north toward White Horse, the other south toward Blue 
 Hill and Rose Tree corner. The boys were with the lat- 
 ter. It was the next day before they heard of the failure 
 of the north-bound riders. Of the two trails in that direc- 
 tion, one lost itself in a clever loop by a shallow stream. 
 The dead courier's horse ended the other in a White 
 Horse barn whither it had wandered in search of warmth. 
 With the boys' party, there was luck as bad. They fol- 
 lowed Dougherty's tracks readily enough for a mile or so, 
 then missed them in a field where the snow had blown 
 clear. Though they picked up the line further on, the 
 hoofprints soon merged with others in the churned slush 
 of a traveled road. It was quite useless to waste more 
 time over them and the disheartened posse broke up.
 
 THE LOST TRAIL 215 
 
 Dougherty might well be in Bethel or Lower Chichester 
 by now, for all they could tell. After all, the gold was 
 safe and that was the main thing. The boys were largely 
 responsible for it, too. Their escape from the cave and 
 warning of Flash in the countryside had undoubtedly 
 spared the tavern from attack. 
 
 Dave and Bob pulled out when the posse halted, and 
 gave their reins to a man who kindly offered to lead their 
 mounts back to the Pratt House for them. They were 
 already within easy walking distance of home and eager 
 to reach there as soon as they could to reassure their par- 
 ents. The lads thanked the man and cut away across the 
 fields. Each was too worn with the events of the last day 
 and night to appreciate just what they had been through, 
 yet under all their exhaustion, was a feeling that they had 
 played the game about as well as the next. Bob spoke 
 first, as he eased the bandage on his shoulder. 
 
 "I say, that stag hunt didn't fetch much venison for 
 us, Dave, did it? But it sure gave us a taste of most 
 everything else! Seems as though we'd been fighting bat- 
 tles fur a week and had an Indian massacre in the bar- 
 gain! And only a scratched arm to show for it!" He 
 laughed a little ruefully. "Flash and the rest are far 
 away as Christmas pudding now, but the poor soldier back 
 there is lying dead by the ford with a " 
 
 "Yes, but we did do some good, Bob. Don't forget the 
 gold. They'd have it with 'em now, sure as shooting, if 
 we hadn't warned 'em at the Pratt!" 
 
 "Warned 'em! We got there when the damage was 
 done, I'd say!" Bob recalled their desperate efforts to 
 climb the Newtown Hill in time. "Two minutes sooner
 
 2i6 SANDY FLASH 
 
 and we might have saved the man's life. Oh, well, the 
 gold's all right. That is something, after all, I suppose. 
 And they've gotten that rascal Torley where they want 
 him. Gotten him good and tight! Reckon they'll hang 
 him, too. We were lucky, right lucky to save our skins!" 
 It was true, they were lucky indeed.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 SIGNAL HILL 
 
 A TALE it was, the lads had to tell their parents an 
 hour later, when they reached their respective 
 homes. Dave came to his farm by the Rose Tree first 
 and asked his companion to bide for dinner, but Bob 
 shook his head and plodded on across fields to Sycamore 
 Mills. The older boy was weary enough to rest a while, 
 but he knew that his mother would be anxious. Perhaps 
 already some rumor of the night's excitement might have 
 reached her. He kept on and came to his own home as 
 soon as he could. The boys were exhausted, more than 
 they had ever been in their lives, but a hearty meal and a 
 good night's rest did wonders to refresh them. They had 
 passed through an ordeal with Sandy Flash that might 
 well have shaken the nerve of any one, but they appeared 
 little the worse for it. After all, their outdoor life, their 
 constant exercise in work about the farms, their clean, 
 wholesome way of looking at things, these had done much 
 to harden their powers of resistance and recovery. 
 
 Bob's arm gave trouble for a day or two, paining him 
 mostly at night, as he lay in bed, then under his mother's 
 skilful nursing, it healed rapidly and with no infection. 
 The woman knew the value of cleanliness in dealing with 
 such hurts and every bit of bandage that she put upon it 
 was made of the whitest lint, boiled and reboiled before 
 use. Her care in this little detail probably saved her son 
 
 217
 
 218 SANDY FLASH 
 
 a good deal more suffering and risk of danger than he 
 realized at the time. It was only later on, when he had 
 had more experience with such things that he came to un- 
 derstand the unspeakable ravages that often followed im- 
 proper treatment. Bob Allyn, like other boys of his time, 
 picked up a lot of useful knowledge this way from the 
 practical application of it in every day affairs. He did 
 not always know the why of things, any more than did 
 his elders, but he did know that certain things worked 
 out for the best, while others did not. 
 
 The day after the murder of the courier and the escape 
 of Sandy Flash, the entire countryside was combed as it 
 had never been before in an effort to come upon some 
 trace of the outlaw or his accomplice. Men rode the 
 lanes and the woodland rides from Middletown to Con- 
 cord in search of hoofprints; they gathered at every cross- 
 road and tavern, vainly hoping some favorable hint or 
 clue might appear. Springfield, Aston, even distant 
 Thornbury and Haverford joined in. But nothing came 
 of it. A troop of Light Horse galloped over from Signal 
 Hill in Easttown to help in the search. It was under the 
 command of Harry Lee, the clever cavalryman from Vir- 
 ginia who had already given Colonel Tarleton many a 
 sharp brush for his pains in trying to corner him. The 
 boys took the coming of the troopers with delight and did 
 all that they could think of to show them the hidden by- 
 paths, but it did no good. As he rode off toward the 
 north, Lee called back his thanks, urging the lads to slip 
 over some day to his station on the high ground beyond 
 Old St. David's, if they cared to see what an army out- 
 post looked like. They promised eagerly to do so.
 
 SIGNAL HILL 219 
 
 By the end of the week, the good folk of Edgemont and 
 upper Providence had given up hope of ever apprehend- 
 ing the lawbreakers. Calm returned to the countryside. 
 The story of the gold leaked out shortly afterwards and 
 that caused another stir, but meanwhile it had been spir- 
 ited away in safety by the troopers. Report of its ar- 
 rival near Head of Elk, far south by the Maryland bor- 
 der, came to the landlord at the Square about a week later 
 and he in turn passed the good word on to Dave and Bob, 
 Of Sandy Flash, not the least vestige was found. He had 
 simply vanished from the county. Moses Doan, the town 
 accomplice, fled to the neighborhood of Bucks, where he 
 contrived to shake off his pursuers and disappear. Mor- 
 decai Dougherty went with him, or at least this was gen- 
 erally so rumored. The boys, content that the trouble had 
 passed, so far as they were concerned, turned again to 
 their trapping with more zeal than ever. Wisely they de- 
 cided that it was the most important bit of work they 
 could do in spare time while winter lasted and pelts stayed 
 prime. They now followed it with system, extending 
 their line of sets beyond Hunting Hill, far up Ridley, 
 almost to the forks at Goshen Meeting. 
 
 The possibility of encountering the outlaws again did 
 not cast a moment's shadow over the lads' minds. It was 
 as well for them that the circumstances attending their 
 final meeting lay hidden in the future, unknown, unfeared. 
 Meanwhile, the trapping held them, fascinated them, as 
 luck came each day and the year drew on toward its close. 
 The winter snows helped them considerably, piling deep 
 in the valleys. Farm chores were not forgotten or allowed 
 to suffer, for all the time they gave to the woods. Each
 
 220 SANDY FLASH 
 
 knew that he was a part of the home team and did his 
 share accordingly in pulling the load. Had it not been 
 for their lost flintlocks, they might have forgotten Flash 
 altogether. 
 
 One cold day in January saw the two of them riding 
 northward on the Providence Road, bound for Lee's out- 
 post at Signal Hill in Easttown. It was a good morning's 
 jaunt away, but they had started early and hoped to look 
 over a few of their traps as they passed by. The winter 
 had come on in earnest now and the bitter weather was 
 giving them some of the best primed skins of the year. 
 Good luck had been with them and many a sleek warm 
 pelt they had carried home in triumph since their first at- 
 tempt with the coon traps back in December. To-day, a 
 great roll of these skins had been strapped securely to 
 the cantles of their saddles. They were the reward of two 
 months' toil fur mittens, fur caps with heavy ear tabs, 
 fur mufflers, snug and soft all made up into shape from 
 the pelts Dave and Bob had carried home. Mistress 
 Thomas and Bob Allyn's mother had worked on them to- 
 gether, taking turns in coming over to each other's house 
 of an afternoon, when they had the chance. Now the furs 
 were ready to be worn by the soldiers who stood so bit- 
 terly in need of them. Light-Horse Harry Lee's com- 
 mand was the first to receive any. 
 
 "I say, Dave, this looks a bit more like being of use, 
 doesn't it? I'll bet they'll be glad to get 'em! It's been 
 the finest kind of fun trapping 'em, too. We've both 
 had" 
 
 "They surely will be glad. It's a terrible sight across
 
 SIGNAL HILL 221 
 
 the Valley where the main lot of the troops are. They've 
 got a camp there on that big hill near the Mountjoy 
 Forge. Father went over last week. He says it's about 
 all they have got! No shoes, lots of 'em! Hardly any 
 food! Not much of anything, 'cept some log huts. It's 
 cold enough here in Providence with all the clothes we 
 need, but over there on those bare hills whee!" 
 
 "Yes, it's awful for 'em. With the people like Flash 
 making it all the worse, that's what makes me the most 
 mad. I wish they'd gotten him, when he was here in our 
 country! Oh, well, we're doing what we can to help. 
 It's a fine lot of furs we've trapped for 'em here, even if 
 they are rough and readymade. And we'll have plenty 
 more by the time the winter's out, never fear. Seems to 
 me we've done about as good this year as any one. And 
 it's only " 
 
 "It's still January," Dave finished the sentence for 
 him. "Lucky we've been and lucky we'll be." 
 
 "Yes, that's just how I feel about it. There's skunk 
 and coon and Bob began to check off the list of game 
 on his fingers, but Dave again broke in. 
 
 "And muskrats. Don't forget all of them we've caught! 
 And the rabbits, that makes four kinds. Then there's the 
 minks and the weasels. Plenty of weasels, when we didn't 
 want 'em." He whistled a bar of "Pop! Goes the 
 Weasel." 
 
 "It's a real year for us! You're right, Dave. Most 
 everything we tried for 'cept beaver and the big otter. 
 He's haunted!" 
 
 "Thought you were sure to catch him with a scheme of
 
 222 SANDY FLASH 
 
 your own?" Dave grinned slyly. "That otter! Haven't 
 heard so much about it lately. Salt for his tail give out 
 or what?" 
 
 "Haven't tried that yet, Dave! Saving it up for the 
 last. The winter's not over, you know. Don't begin 
 crowing too soon. As it is, I've gotten most as many pelts 
 as you. And I found the beaver dam, first, at that! " Bob 
 could not keep the triumph from his voice as he recalled 
 the discovery of the pool in Crum the afternoon they had 
 been captured by Sandy Flash and Dougherty. "I saw 
 that pond first, mind, and I put the first set in it, too!" 
 
 "Yes, you did. But you never got a beaver!" Dave 
 laughed. "You weren't even sure that beaver were there 
 till we went back together that other day and I showed 
 you the four-toed tracks they'd gone and made in the 
 mud. You'd have put it down as muskrats, I'll bet. 
 Tessup!" 
 
 "We'll get one of 'em yet, never you worry. The main 
 thing was to find the pool. And I knew perfectly well 
 that beaver 'd made it. I saw where they'd crawled up 
 and gnawed the birches and the popple." Bob was big 
 and good natured enough to let the younger boy carry on 
 the fun at his expense, but he knew the beaver find was 
 his credit, none the less. 
 
 "Maybe you did. I was only joking. Reckon we'll 
 get all we want if we set traps there long enough, but the 
 big otter's the main thing. You were so cock sure of get- 
 ting it that I thought you really had a plan all ready to 
 try. Something new! I'd rather get that same old otter 
 than most anything else in the county!" 
 
 "So would I, Dave. And I'm not through going for
 
 SIGNAL HILL 223 
 
 him, either," Bob stopped speaking with a cough. It did 
 not ring quite true, but Dave gave scant heed. 
 
 "What do you aim to try this time?" Young Thomas 
 glanced at his companion, eager to hear more, but Bob 
 had no intention of giving away his scheme. 
 
 "See there?" Allyn suddenly drew rein and pointed to 
 an ancient apple tree by the wayside. Its gnarled and 
 slanting trunk bore witness to the storms it had weathered 
 in winters past. "I say, Dave, did you ever happen to 
 hear how this old road through Upper and Nether Provi- 
 dence came to be planted with those apple trees every 
 mile, all the way from Edgemont down to Chester. That's 
 one of 'em there. Bet you never heard how, for all the 
 old-time things you're full of!" 
 
 "Never did, Bob. Always thought they just naturally 
 sort of grew here. Didn't they?" 
 
 "Give me an orchard like 'em, if they did. No, sireel 
 Not those pippins. There was a surveyor named Henry 
 Hollingsworth, way back in 1687, nearly a hundred years 
 ago. And he put all these trees out when he made the 
 Providence Road, every one of 'em. Father told me once 
 that when he was a boy, they were most all of 'em stand- 
 ing. Hollingsworth told his friends in England that he'd 
 planted an orchard in the Province over nine miles long!" 
 
 Bob Allyn saw that he had led his comrade success- 
 fully away from thoughts of the otter. As a matter of 
 fact, Dave had guessed aright. The big lad was working 
 even now on a new plan of his own to take the lord of the 
 pool in face of every discouragement that had come to his 
 efforts hitherto. So it was that he took no great relish in 
 being made the butt of the other's jesting. Neither did
 
 224 SANDY FLASH 
 
 he care to have Dave inquire too deeply as to the manner 
 in which he proposed to go about trapping it. He wanted 
 to try out his plan first, then surprise his chum. Young 
 Allyn was a good deal better woodsman of late than he 
 had let the other suspect. He had the knack and the 
 training to remember odds and ends that came to him 
 day by day. 
 
 "I guess he had one that long if he set out all these 
 trees himself! Nine miles! Crickets!" Dave laughed. 
 "Whoa, there, Bob! Wait a second! We're past Blue 
 Hill and I most forgot the traps down this end of Ridley. 
 We'd best" 
 
 "Think we've time to look 'em over? It's quite a way 
 from here to Signal Hill, 'you know. We've come slow. 
 Still I reckon we can do it. It's early. Lead the horses 
 round to meet me on the other road, will you, and I'll 
 jog through the woods on foot. In a jiffy, too! Keep 
 'em out of the wind, if you have to wait. Mind they 
 don't chill!" 
 
 Bob slid from the saddle, as his friend drew in. Then 
 he tossed his reins to Dave and unfastened a gun from 
 the side of the pummel where he had made an ingenious 
 boot to hold it. The piece was an old, though serviceable, 
 weapon of his father's. 
 
 "Reckon I won't find much. It's getting on in winter 
 now, and they're foxy as can be down this end of the 
 stream where we've trapped so regular, right along. Take 
 the horses easy, and you won't have to wait long. I'll 
 hurry. Thanks!" 
 
 Bob climbed over the wayside wall and jogged down
 
 SIGNAL HILL 225 
 
 the slope toward Hunting Hill. He was fit now as ever in 
 his life and the pace he set scarcely winded him. His 
 guess as to luck proved near to the mark. A muskrat and 
 a skunk were all the sets had to offer by way of game. 
 One trap did hold a weasel, but the animal's skin had been 
 so badly torn as to be worthless. The skunk was not 
 large, though vicious to a degree, and Bob paid the pen- 
 alty of haste. He could easily have shot the animal dead 
 without half aiming, but between disappointment at the 
 small catch and his eagerness to get forward to rejoin his 
 companion further up stream, he only succeeded in 
 wounding it. Before the second slug put an end to its 
 fighting, he had gotten an ample dose of scent on his leg- 
 gins. The big boy grinned sheepishly to himself. He had 
 given way to temper and he knew it. That would mean 
 another joke for Dave. Shouldering the flintlock, he 
 trudged toward the road with a wry face. 
 
 As he hurried on, alert for any sign of tracks, he noted 
 the depth of ice by the shore. It was a wonder that he 
 had found anything in the land sets during such a biting 
 spell of weather. The wild life of the wood were wont to 
 take refuge from such a frost deep in their holes and 
 dens, until hunger itself drove them out in search of ra- 
 tions. Bob snuggled his muffler, high about his ears, and 
 hastened along. Dave would be getting restless the next 
 thing, having to hold the horses this long. Besides, there 
 was always the risk of cold for them. Bob Allyn was a 
 horseman before all else, and he never fully forgot it, 
 even when deep in the lure of his traps. 
 
 However, he need not have worried, for when he did
 
 226 SANDY FLASH 
 
 come out on the Strasburg Road, he found Dave waiting 
 for him in the shelter of a cedar grove. The lad waved 
 a welcome and asked of their luck. 
 
 "Not much to boast of, Dave, and that's about the best 
 I can say for it. A skunk that's mighty small and a musk- 
 rat. Oh, and I forgot, there was a weasel, too, but it was 
 all chawed up. I left it back there by the creek. No 
 good." 
 
 "Where're the others?" Dave led the horses out into 
 the road preparatory to mounting. "Got 'em?" 
 
 "Yes, here," Bob Allyn held up the trophies. "See, 
 the rat isn't half bad. Make a nice bit of pelt at that. 
 What do you say if we skin 'em right now and take 'em 
 over to Signal Hill with the ones we've already made up?" 
 He reached for the long knife that hung from his belt in a 
 leather sheath. 
 
 Dave, glancing at the sun, saw that it was still quite 
 early in the morning and that there would be ample time 
 to reach Lee's men by noon. He turned the horses back 
 to the shelter of the cedars and tethered them there. 
 Then he crossed the road to help his friend. Both boys 
 had had so much practice at the job that a few moments 
 sufficed to peel the skins from the muskrat and the skunk. 
 Throwing the offal over the fence, they tied the new hides 
 to the other furs, then swung to saddle. Cheerily urging 
 the horses to a trot, they moved swiftly off toward New- 
 town Square and the road north. 
 
 The going was splendid. Just a nice coating of snow, 
 dry so that it did not ball up in the horses' feet. Turn- 
 ing to the right at Paper Mill Lane, they left the New- 
 town Road arid dropped to Darby Creek close by the
 
 SIGNAL HILL 227 
 
 Township of Radnor. Here they came into an ancient 
 highway laid out in the days of the Penns. A level 
 stretch of it, the Darby Road, ran westward through the 
 woods and fields of Happy Creek. The temptation was 
 too great for the boys to resist. With a shout of challenge, 
 Bob clipped heels to his horse's sides and plunged ahead, 
 just as they passed the Church of Old St. David's. Dave 
 was behind him like a flash, eager to share in the race that 
 lay before them. The heavy bundles were forgotten as 
 was the long ride they had come that morning, but the 
 mounts they bestrode had taken it easy and so entered 
 into the sport of the gallop with quite as much flash as 
 the boys in the saddles. 
 
 Perhaps three-quarters of a mile they went at speed, 
 the keen wind whipping their cheeks to scarlet before the 
 road began to swing to the right and dropped sharply 
 downward. That would have ended the race, for a little 
 ford lay at the foot of the slope, but Dave's bundle of furs 
 broke loose from its fastenings before they reached water. 
 Panting and laughing, he pulled up, while Bob, with the 
 hands of the born horseman, lightly eased his own mount 
 from gallop to canter and canter to trot. Then gently 
 playing the reins, as the animal reached at the bits, he 
 came to a halt. The furs luckily had not scattered, so a 
 few moments were enough to replace them on the cantle. 
 The boys rode on more leisurely, breathing their horses as 
 they started up the gentle slope of Signal Hill. 
 
 "The first mile out and the last mile in, you know, 
 Dave," said Bob, patting his mount's sleek neck. "That's 
 a great rule for keeping horses fit. If you begin with 'em 
 easy when they're cold from the stable, they'll carry
 
 228 SANDY FLASH 
 
 you far. Then when you're coming back again it's just 
 as much to remember. Never bring a horse to stall hot or 
 winded if you can help it. We don't over at our place 
 and that's why we can sell 'em so well to the folks who 
 want light ones for riding. Ours are fit as fiddles from 
 the time they're foaled. It's only a few little things like 
 that which keeps 'em so. Look, yonder's the house where 
 Lee said he was stationed. I thought there'd be a fort 
 or something round the top of the hill! There's not a 
 thing!" Bob's voice was full of disappointment. 
 
 "They've gone away and left the place. Else we'd see 
 a flag. They'd surely fly one, wouldn't they? That's it. 
 They're left. The ride's all for nothing." Dave scanned 
 the hill before them, but no sign of military bivouac such 
 as they had imagined was to be seen. "We might push 
 on across Tredyffrin," he continued, "and give the fur 
 things to the soldiers at Valley Forge. I know the way all 
 right. There's a little lane that runs straight across from 
 here. We could make it in time. I once went there with 
 father a long time ago and we passed right by here some- 
 wheres." 
 
 However, the lads could have saved themselves any 
 bother as to the need for a longer ride. The farmhouse 
 on Signal Hill was still the outpost of Light-Horse Harry 
 in spite of its peaceful, unfortified appearance. As 
 they rode closer, a guard challenged from a little hut or 
 shelter of boughs craftily hidden in the side of the road. 
 There was considerable confusion on the part of Dave 
 and Bob when they realized that they had been under ob- 
 servance for the last mile or more. The boys were ques- 
 tioned, but evidently they were known by their errand,
 
 SIGNAL HILL 229 
 
 for the sentry soon passed them along toward the house 
 where Lee himself welcomed them. Then it was that they 
 received the surprise of their life, news that made them 
 bitter at the thought of what they had missed by so nar- 
 row a margin. 
 
 Only two or three days before a fight had occurred 
 about that same old building a skirmish that promised 
 fair to develop into a pitched battle before it had ended. 
 Lee chuckled as he led the boys about the rooms inside 
 and pointed out to them his system of defense, his barri- 
 caded doors and loop-holed windows, his look-out high 
 in the roof. The officer modestly turned the whole thing 
 off as more or less of a joke, but even the untrained boys 
 quickly realized the gallantry and the courage that had 
 directed the fighting. 
 
 Colonel Tarleton, it appeared, with some two hundred 
 hostile dragoons had slipped up close to Signal Hill early 
 in the morning. He was bent primarily upon foraging and 
 plundering the countryside of Easttown and Radnor, but 
 getting word of the outpost on the high ground, and see- 
 ing at once its strategic importance with regard to the 
 main body of the army at Valley Forge, he had determined 
 to rush the place, off hand, and take it by surprise or 
 storm. A Tory had told him that Lee was there with a 
 mere handful of men, some fourteen troopers of the Light 
 Horse. As a matter of fact, only eight were available 
 that morning. The Virginian's position was simply a link 
 in the line of outguards and signal posts that were swung 
 in a great circle round to Gulph Mills and the river be- 
 yond Rebel Hill. There was no intention of making the 
 place into a holding position. Tarleton had misjudged his
 
 230 SANDY FLASH 
 
 man, however, for when his cavalry had broken from the 
 shelter of the forest and charged up the slope to the house, 
 they were met with a volley of shots that told of prepara- 
 tion inside. 
 
 All that January day the fight had gone on, the odds of 
 the thing almost beyond belief. Two hundred well-armed 
 cavalrymen outside against eight men inside. It was not 
 as though the dragoons had to attack entirely in the open 
 either, for the slope of the hill was covered here and there 
 with clumps of trees and bushes that would have afforded 
 the best of cover to the men, had they the least idea of 
 how to avail themselves of it. Again and again the sol- 
 diers under Tarleton had tried to rush the house, to set 
 flame to the stable, to concentrate a killing fire on the 
 shutters of the windows, but their bright uniforms made 
 them too good a mark for comfort. Lee had his Vir- 
 ginians placed well; they all knew how to shoot. Late in 
 the afternoon, as dusk crept up from the misty pool in 
 the meadow below, things began to look bad for the de- 
 fenders. Powder ran low. Just in time, relief had 
 come. 
 
 "Yes, I thought they'd gotten us then, for sure," laughed 
 Lee, as he helped Dave undo one of the bundles so that 
 he could examine the fur caps and mufflers his men needed 
 so badly. "It was half dark outside and we couldn't see 
 'em well as they crept up. The funny part of it all was 
 that they waited till the day was over before they really 
 began to attack like they should have done in the very 
 first place." 
 
 "How?" said Bob. "How ought they to have fought?" 
 He ripped apart the second bundle. "Under cover?"
 
 SIGNAL HILL 231 
 
 "Why, yes, naturally! They could have crept up close 
 and picked off the whole eight of us in half an hour, if 
 they'd used any sense about it. The trouble is when 
 Tarleton and his like begin to fight, they're brave as lions 
 and they fight fairly enough, but their poor muddled 
 heads are too full of what the drill masters say. It all 
 must be done just so. Or it's wrong. This time it was 
 wrong for 'em, all right, as reinforcements reached us 
 from the army in time. Colonel Stevens came with 'em 
 all the way from the Forge near Mount Misery or what- 
 ever they call it. Heard the firing, they say." 
 
 "To think that we missed it by a couple of days!" 
 Bob grinned, but his heart was sore. The boy was begin- 
 ning to feel that he was quite big enough to have some 
 share in the fighting, if it came as close to home as this. 
 
 Lee, however, soon set the boys at rest in their minds. 
 The furs they had brought were the very things he needed 
 most. That and rations. It was bitter work keeping the 
 signal station in touch with other outposts at all hours 
 during the frosts and snows of midwinter and the troopers 
 with him were scantily clad, even the best of them. The 
 officer spared no pains to make the lads realize that their 
 work was not only appreciated, but a very necessity un- 
 der the existing want. He went so far as to call in the 
 men who could be spared from outpost duty so that the 
 boys could distribute the caps and mufflers themselves. 
 A meal, chiefly noteworthy for its scantiness, brought 
 home to the trappers a realization of the privations com- 
 mon to army life in the field. 
 
 "War is only nice in the story books and in the tales of 
 those who've forgotten what it's really like," said one of
 
 232 SANDY FLASH 
 
 the sergeants, noting the expression of wonder on Dave's 
 face. "It's a hard, grinding job at best, war is, but it's 
 seldom full of the glory we look to see. It's mostly hun- 
 ger and cold and wet, that and the filth of it all, which is 
 the worst. But when it comes, why, there's nothing for 
 it but to turn to with a grin and make the best of it, I 
 reckon. Each in his own part. You lads can do more 
 than half a battery of guns, if you just keep on getting 
 pelts to keep the cold from us, the way you've been do- 
 ing. And maybe a slab of fresh meat, if you've luck with 
 that buck you spoke of. That'd be a feast!" 
 
 The hint put new determination in the boys. Shortly 
 after the midday meal, they said good-by to the troopers 
 and rode off for home. A long time they were silent. 
 They had too many things to think about for much con- 
 versation. Hitherto, the war had passed by them wholly, 
 except for the occasional raids of freebooters like Sandy 
 Flash and Doan. Their families had not suffered much; 
 there was no tea, sugar was hard to get hold of, that was 
 about all. Rumor of battle and skirmish had come to 
 them in Providence from time to time, but not the breath 
 of war itself, not the sight of shivering men, almost bare- 
 footed in the snow, not the wounded as they had seen one 
 poor fellow in the outpost with a bullet through his 
 cheek. 
 
 The fight at Signal Hill, small and of no especial impor- 
 tance as it was, served to drive home the fact that cour- 
 age was not necessarily a part of great engagements. 
 The tide of the Revolution never came nearer to them or 
 to their quiet farms than it did that cold January day when 
 Tarleton had led his charging cavalry to the attack on
 
 SIGNAL HILL 233 
 
 Signal Hill, yet as long as they lived the boys were the 
 better for their knowledge of that fight. In a way they 
 could not understand, they sensed the unconquerable 
 spirit of the thing. They began to see what men meant 
 by that which they called their country. 
 
 "I say, Dave," Bob Allyn spoke at last, as they crossed 
 the Darby Creek and settled to the climb on the other 
 side. "When I get home I'm going to tell father all I saw 
 and ask if we can't put in some more time in the woods. 
 A little more, anyway. There are deer about and think 
 what it would mean to those fellows back yonder if only 
 we could get the stag we saw at Hunting Hill ! Why, it'd 
 be meat enough to feed 'em for a month! Fresh venison 
 'stead of moldy pork and rotting hominy!" 
 
 "I was just thinking the same thing. I know my 
 father'll let me do it, too." Dave clicked at his horse. 
 The beast was beginning to lag a bit, tired by the work 
 of the day. 
 
 "Never click your tongue like that to a horse, Davey, 
 when you're riding with anybody. It makes the other 
 person's horse start on and some time or other it'll cause 
 trouble if one horse happens to be a bit frisky. All right 
 when you're driving in a wagon, maybe, but no good man 
 with a horse ever does it under the saddle." 
 
 Again the boys rode onward for a time in silence. They 
 could not keep their minds from the lonely outguards they 
 had left at Signal Hill. Suddenly Bob glanced at his 
 chum, then spoke sharply: 
 
 "Tell me, Dave, I just thought of something, did that 
 sergeant tell you about the way the attack first came up 
 the hill? I mean how Tarleton got his men close about
 
 234 SANDY FLASH 
 
 the foot of the place under shelter of the trees? You 
 were with me when he began to talk about it, after we'd 
 something to eat, then you went out with Lee to get that 
 other cap with the big ear pieces that he thought would 
 fit him. Did you hear the rest of it?" 
 
 "Not another word, but I reckon I heard all there was 
 to tell. He said that the redcoats got into the woods from 
 the east, across the Darby road, coming there by a little 
 path from near Old St. David's. And that another lot 
 of 'em came more from the south, as if they'd followed 
 the lane that runs north like from Saw Mill Wood and 
 what they call the Round Top. I heard all that before 
 I went out. Wasn't that all he told you?" 
 
 "I say ! I never knew you didn't know ! " Bob whistled 
 in pure amazement. "I was sure he'd told you " 
 
 "Told me what?" cried Dave, beside himself with im- 
 patience. "For pity's sake, tell me and have done with 
 it!" 
 
 "Told you who led the dragoons to Signal Hill!" Bob 
 spoke seriously enough for all the other's haste. "The 
 Tory who gave away the secret of the post and the few 
 troopers they'd left in the house! They saw him m the 
 fight. Sandy Flash!" 
 
 "Sandy Flash!" For once Dave was taken aback be- 
 yond the power of his control to hide. "That means 
 he's" 
 
 "It means he's close about us at his sneaking deviltry 
 again! It means I'm mighty glad I've got a gun !" Bob 
 tapped the boot that held the flintlock to his saddle.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 THE MASK 
 
 THE rest of the ride back to Upper Providence, how- 
 ever, proved to be as peaceful as either boy could 
 have desired. The roads were deserted for the most part 
 and what few people they did meet with were farmers 
 bent upon reaching home before dark. At the Pratt House 
 inn by Newtown Square, Dave and Bob stopped to rest 
 their horses with a sup of water and a bit of hay, while 
 they themselves went indoors to warm their stiffening 
 fingers at the fire. Dave half shuddered as he recalled 
 the night of alarm they had spent there only a few weeks 
 before. While he was looking at the bullet rip in the 
 kitchen door, Bob explained to the host the news he had 
 heard of Sandy Flash's reappearance and the part the 
 outlaw had played in the skirmish at Signal Hill. The 
 man laughed in great glee when he learned of the gallant 
 manner in which Light-Horse Harry had repelled the at- 
 tack and held the station against such odds. 
 
 "That's the sort of man we need!" cried he, slapping 
 his leg in enthusiasm till the dust rose from the coarse 
 homespun of his knee breeches. "Eh, lads, the war will 
 soon be over at this rate. If eight men and an old farm- 
 house can hold off such a crowd of well-drilled troopers 
 all the day, what would Friend Lee have done if he'd all 
 his Legion with him! Tarleton would have run hot- 
 
 235
 
 236 SANDY FLASH 
 
 foot nigh to Tinicum Island. So it 'pears to me, he 
 would, 'stead of trying to take the hill in Easttown ! " 
 
 Neither the boys nor the landlord really worried very 
 much about Flash. Wherever he might be, it was clear 
 that he proposed to keep under cover since no one in the 
 neighborhood of the Square had gotten word of his return. 
 Warmed by the hearth glow and a fine dish of sassafras 
 tea, Dave and Bob thanked the kindly natured man and 
 his wife. Then they remounted and rode the rest of the 
 way toward Rose Tree. The day was far spent by the 
 time they parted at Blue Hill lane, but the remembrance 
 of the joy their pelts had brought to the ill-clad soldiers 
 at Signal Hill left a warm little flame of satisfaction in 
 their hearts. They knew beyond all gainsaying that 
 they had been of use. And that was much to them. 
 They had proved to their own good conscience that their 
 days of trapping and hunting were far from mere idle 
 hours of pleasure, keen as had been their enjoyment of 
 the sport. 
 
 Dave waved his arm and passed round the bend into 
 the woodland spinney that lay between him and home. 
 The setting sun had lengthened the shadows of the chest- 
 nuts to gigantic proportions. The snow curled crisp 
 and smooth as cream along the fencerows. There was 
 no wind. The peace of the evening had slipped upon 
 the countryside with the coming of twilight. The boy, 
 under the spell of it, drew a deep breath, tasting the 
 cold, sweet air that felt so sharply pleasant to his lungs. 
 It fairly made him tingle with the burning life of it, 
 the amazing energy of all outdoors. Again he straight- 
 ened in the saddle and breathed full, before he settled
 
 THE MASK 237 
 
 once more to the stirrups with a little shake of comfort. 
 It was fine to be alive, to feel so keen and strong and 
 fit, every muscle and fiber of his body in tune to the 
 glory of the passing day. 
 
 Dave was right in his guess about the permission when 
 he asked his father a little later on that he and Bob 
 be given more time to try for the deer. Hugh Thomas 
 had not been himself all the way to Valley Forge across 
 the Radnor Hills without seeing the crying need for 
 every bit of help that could be given. A load of fresh 
 venison would do much to relieve the hunger of one out- 
 post anyway. 
 
 "Take the next day you want, son. I'll lend my gun. 
 See Bob Allyn and let me know when you plan to go. 
 It's all I want to know. Only don't be getting caught 
 up again by Sandy Flash. He'd brand you right this 
 time. It might go lots worse with you!" The farmer 
 laughed, as he recalled the story of the boys' escape 
 and their desperate haste through the woodlands to New- 
 town Hill with the broken leg irons still fast about their 
 shins. He knew the danger they had been in, probably 
 a good deal better than the boys themselves, but Hugh 
 Thomas was never the man to draw a long face at trouble 
 passed and done with. 
 
 Dave took his father at his word and rode down to 
 see Bob the very next evening after milking chores were 
 over. The boys soon agreed upon a day. The earlier 
 the better, it seemed to them, so Thursday morning of 
 that week was chosen. They asked big John Allyn 
 if it would be all right so far as his need of Bob was 
 concerned and found to their great relief that it would.
 
 238 SANDY FLASH 
 
 That gave them two days leeway to get ready and to 
 do a few extra chores by way of making up for the 
 time to be lost. 
 
 All their preparations were in vain, however, for the 
 long walk on Thursday, from gray dawn until sunset 
 light, showed them not so much as a slot of the stag 
 they longed to win. One small doe was viewed, off on 
 the highlands of Radnor Barrens, but far too distant 
 for a shot even had they cared to try for it. Discouraged, 
 they trudged homeward, feeling that they had lost their 
 last chance for the worth-while prize the day they had 
 cornered it so neatly in the cedar thicket of Crum. A 
 gleam of hope came to them from the vague report of 
 a blacksmith who had heard of the stag being seen and 
 recognized the week before. However, this was far away 
 in distant Fallowfi eld and uncertain hearsay at best. The 
 boys could not bring themselves to put much reliance 
 in it. Nor did they feel it worth their while to follow 
 such a weak clue so far to the westward across the 
 Brandywines. 
 
 As sometimes happens, clouds break just when they 
 seem the darkest and so it was in the case of the deer 
 of Hunting Hill. The young trappers got him. In truth, 
 they were as much surprised at it as were their parents. 
 If the real facts be told, their luck was luck alone and 
 not in the least a result of woodcraft or patience. 
 
 "I say, Dave, this ought to have come from sticking 
 at it," Bob laughingly called to his chum, as they were 
 skinning the carcass. "But it didn't. If we'd gotten 
 it as we should, it would be just like two boys in a fairy 
 tale. They always overcome all odds and win in the
 
 THE MASK 239 
 
 end, you know. But we why, we just blundered into 
 it and couldn't miss! Reckon that's what mostly happens 
 in real life, don't you expect?" 
 
 It was the truth. The two lads had left their homes 
 quite late one morning to see to the trap line. They 
 had given up all chances at the stag in disgust as not 
 worth the time spent upon it, although Dave had taken 
 his father's gun along for luck. Ever since that day when 
 they had lost their first great opportunity, he had never 
 failed to carry a weapon. It paid to be prepared as 
 events turned out. The boys had parted below the 
 ford of Ridley, one going straight upstream, the other 
 leading the horses round as usual to the MacAfee barn 
 near Edgemont. More often than not, they rode to and 
 from the sets these days to save time. Bob, for he it 
 was who had gone along the brook on foot, was more 
 than halfway through the cover, when a sound of break- 
 ing branches caused him to pause and look sharply ahead. 
 
 He checked himself to a dead halt the next moment, 
 one foot half raised, as he looked again to make sure. 
 His breath caught in a little gasp of astonishment. 
 Down the side of the stream, not three hundred yards 
 away, raced Dave, making scant noise in the drifts of 
 powdery snow, except as his feet broke through and 
 snapped a fallen branch beneath. The younger boy 
 stopped when he caught sight of Bob, in the glade, then 
 he tossed up his hand and motioned frantically. Before 
 the sound of his voice could carry through the wood, 
 young Allyn had one wild moment of panic. Was it 
 Sandy Flash! But his companion's shout rang in a posi- 
 tive scream of triumph to reassure him.
 
 240 SANDY FLASH 
 
 "The buck! I've gotten the buck! Hurrah! I've 
 killed it! I tell you, Bob, the stag" 
 
 Bob Allyn dropped his trap chains, breaking into a 
 run, for his chum was quite beside himself with excite- 
 ment, leaping about in the snow like a madman, eyes 
 wild with the thrill of his first big deer. 
 
 "Oh, Bob I I I got him square! It's the very 
 one we saw before, too! Hu-hurry, can't you, and see 
 it! Hurrah!" 
 
 "Good boy!" Bob slapped his friend a hearty bang 
 of congratulation upon the back as he dashed up to him. 
 "Now we'll have some fresh meat for Lee's men ! Where'd 
 you see it? Are the horses all right?" 
 
 "Yes! I'd gotten 'em in the stable. Cunningham was 
 there. And I left 'em with him!" The boy was panting 
 from the strain of his luck. "Then I hurried down the 
 road to meet you near the crossing. I I," he stuttered, 
 then forced a grip on his enthusiasm and checked the 
 rush of words. "I spied the buck on the side of the hill 
 up there. It looked as big as a barn! Really!" 
 
 "Sure it was the same one? The stag we saw in the 
 cedars? Hey, there, Davey, I say! Stop spinning round 
 like a top and tell me!" Bob laughed at the other's way 
 of showing his joy. 
 
 "Oh, Bob, I've told you so a hundred times alreadyl 
 It's just above there on the road. Come and see for 
 yourself. Whoop-pee!" He leaped in the air for very 
 joy. 
 
 Bob Allyn was seventeen now and deliberate with 
 countless Scotch generations behind him, but he could 
 hold out no longer against the contagion of the younger
 
 THE MASK 241 
 
 boy's spirits. He gave way to a surge of enthusiasm that 
 carried him off his feet, as a full realization of their for- 
 tune dawned on him. Dave was trembling with the thrill 
 of it. Together, the boys raced up Ridley water for the 
 road, both yelling like wild Indians. It was all too un- 
 believable to be true ! As they pushed their way through 
 the bushes, Dave panted out further details of his for- 
 tune. 
 
 He had stalled the horses, as Bob already knew, leav- 
 ing them in the care of their good friend at the MacAfees'. 
 Afterwards, he had been calmly walking down the Stras- 
 burg way to meet Bob at the ford, when to his utter 
 amazement he had viewed the stag. The great deer was 
 a good way above him to the right. Evidently, it had 
 returned to its old haunts near the Rising Sun in Willis- 
 town after wandering far afield for several fortnights. 
 Dave had retained the presence of mind to drop flat in 
 the ditch the instant he caught sight of it just a fraction 
 of time before the graceful creature turned its head. 
 
 "I just had pure luck! That was all there was to it. 
 Bob! Beginner's luck, I reckon you'd call it. It was 
 a long way too far off to shoot from where I was, but 
 it was side-on to me and looking hard as ever it could 
 across the valley and the brook. I think there must 
 have bee?n a doe or something yonder in the Greenbriers 
 beyond by the Barrens. Maybe in the Pickering 
 Thicket. He was busy watching something over there, 
 anyway, and didn't see me. My! What a target! I 
 peeped out of the corner of my eye at him and then 
 spied a gipsy fence running uphill from the road. It was 
 a good deal nearer him and I knew that if I could reach
 
 242 SANDY FLASH 
 
 it once and crawl up, I'd stand some hope of a shot! 
 Worth the trying for, anyway. 
 
 "I just did my best to move like a worm, Bob! I 
 twisted and edged along the ditch in the snow till I 
 got to it. That old fence! And then I squeezed close 
 to where a bar was broken. It got me a good deal 
 nearer the place where the deer was than I'd thought it 
 would. A lot nearer! And the wind was coming strong 
 right from him to me. I pushed the old gun through 
 the panel and rested it on the lower rail where it was 
 smashed. Couldn't ever have gotten him, if I hadn't, 
 that far away. He never knew what hit him! Just 
 reared up and " 
 
 "Where did the bullet go? The head or the " Bob, 
 human, therefore envious, was hiding his chagrin as best 
 he could. It was a hard pill to swallow, this seeing his 
 younger chum win the prize of the year. 
 
 "No, not the head. Just back of the shoulder. It 
 knocked him dead as a farthing! Just like that man's 
 horse the highwayman shot, up at the Pratt, the time 
 Flash got away. You know! That's why I aimed there. 
 Very same spot! Look yonder! There he is! See his 
 horns! Beat you to it, Bob, you old slow coach!" 
 
 Dave darted across the road with Bob Allyn in swift 
 pursuit. Together, they climbed the open field beyond, 
 running hard, saving their breath for the pitch of the 
 hill before them. The lighter boy thought he had the 
 race without an effort, but soon enough he found he had 
 misjudged the other's power of stride. Neck and neck 
 they jockeyed for the lead till Bob broke away and ran 
 the last ten yards a winner. At that, he was not ahead
 
 THE MASK 243 
 
 by more than a fraction of space. The pair came laugh- 
 ingly to a halt beside the body of the stag. It lay there 
 on the smooth snow, where the sun had melted the deeper 
 drifts from the southern slopes. 
 
 Truly it was a prize they might feel proud of, even 
 if chance luck had been responsible for putting it in 
 their way. However, both lads recalled that this was 
 not their first meeting with the buck of Hunting Hill nor 
 their first shot at it. The former chase and its stagger- 
 ing end in the cedar thicket was a thing that neither of 
 them would forget as long as he lived. It made this 
 seem a little more like a reward for their perseverance. 
 
 The animal lay on its side, head thrown back, the great 
 spread of horn resting on the ground. Each antler was 
 crowned with the tines of a full-sized stag. Dave checked 
 them off in silence. Somehow or other, the excitement 
 had gone from the bo}'s, as they stood above the kingly 
 body and studied the great lines of it that spoke so 
 strikingly of speed and drive and power. Never before 
 had they been close to a buck of such proportion. It 
 sobered them, filled them with a kind of reverence for 
 the fleetest creature that moved in all the forests round. 
 
 "I say, Dave! Look at those horns! See the points, 
 will you! And the spread of it, too. There's a crown for 
 you! It'll make a right fine rack for your room. I 
 mean over the fireplace, home." 
 
 "I never saw the like in all my life. I can't believe 
 I really got it! 'Deed I can't, Bob! Wait till father 
 sees him!" Dave touched the tip of the great tines. 
 "He seems grayer somehow than he did before, when 
 he was a little way off. Notice it?" The lad felt the
 
 244 SANDY FLASH 
 
 sleek neck almost fearingly. He was suffering from buck 
 fever, had he only known it, yet recovered spirits soon 
 enough when he remembered the cheer all this fine venison 
 would bring the outpost at Signal Hill. Dave shook off 
 his depression with a laugh as he dropped to his knees 
 beside the carcass. There was plenty of work for him 
 before that same good meat would be of use to the men 
 with Lee. 
 
 "The gray color in his coat means the middle of winter, 
 I think," hazarded Bob, running his hand against the 
 grain of the hair. "All white-tailed deer get grayish like 
 in cold weather, then in summer turn brown as can be. 
 That's so as to save 'em. Coat sort of makes a match 
 with the trees and the snow, 'cording to what season 
 of the year it happens to be. I've seen that lots with 
 the small deer we used to have down Ridley below our 
 place. Let's get to work with the skinning." 
 
 "Can't do it very well here. Not half so good as we 
 can at home where we've a rack and a pulley to hoist 
 him up high while we work. The thing they use to cut 
 up the hogs at butchering time, you know." 
 
 "That might be the best way." Bob eyed the body, 
 trying to estimate its weight, but his experience had been 
 too limited with game of such tremendous size. He soon 
 gave it up. 
 
 "Surely! We can do it in no time then," urged Dave. 
 "I'm going to get the horses now, and then lead mine 
 back with the buck over the saddle like a poke o' meal 
 going to mill! Whoop! Hurrah! Won't they open their 
 eyes when they spy us coming down the lane! Wait 
 for me here, Bob."
 
 THE MASK 245 
 
 "You're right! That they will! Father '11 turn a hand- 
 spring, most, he's teased me so about not being a good 
 hunter. I'll come along now for my horse, too. I say, 
 this is different from the time Sandy Flash scared it off 
 the sights of our guns! Remember the cave and that old 
 poker of his? This big buck was what led us there!" 
 
 "Not likely to forget it, are you? Seems like a sort 
 of dream to me now. Wonder what he'd do, if he got hold 
 of us, Sandy Flash? Or the other fellow! " 
 
 Bob laughed. Then the lads turned downhill for Edge- 
 mont and the barn of William MacAfee. As they has- 
 tened along, they said little, too thrilled by the thought 
 of their wonderful luck. By the time they had gotten 
 the unwieldy bulk of the stag across Dave's saddle, they 
 were weary enough. Three or even four boys the size 
 of David could never have managed it, but Bob's great 
 height and power of shoulder finally succeeded. The 
 horse was quiet and well accustomed to loads, so that 
 the greatest difficulty was in calming the animal's in- 
 stinctive fear of the dead carcass. Once lifted on, how- 
 ever, and strapped fast to the saddle with the legs tied 
 underneath, the boys lost no time in leading their mounts 
 to the road. They were more than eager to reach home 
 and show the prize to their people. 
 
 Skinning and cutting up into manageable chunks was 
 harder than they had looked for, but they finished the 
 work at last and carried the meat over to Signal Hill 
 in a great farm sledge a day or two later. A right royal 
 welcome they met with from Lee and his hungry troopers. 
 Even the unfortunate fellow with the wound in his face 
 seemed cheered beyond measure at the sight of the hearty
 
 246 SANDY FLASH 
 
 meal laid out in the farmhouse kitchen. It was the first 
 that any of them had tasted in many a day where there 
 was enough on the board and to spare for all. During 
 the drive home, Bob brought up the matter of the beaver 
 dam again. 
 
 "I say, Dave, if we ever hope to get any beaver we'd 
 best go over to the pool there in Crum some of these 
 fine days and really try for one. Ridley's all right, but 
 we've trapped it so much they're shy. Next thing you 
 know it'll be the end of winter and pelts'll begin to go 
 off a bit." 
 
 "Any time you say, Bob," replied Dave, reaching to 
 tuck the buffalo robe more snugly under his leg. 
 
 "Warm enough? Sit tight on the rug while I yank it 
 closer. That's it. How about this Saturday for the 
 beaver? Suits me." 
 
 "Good as any. And we can take a couple of traps 
 along and try different ways. That scheme of your 
 father's seemed to me the best. You once " 
 
 "What one was that? The set in the runway? You 
 tried it, didn't you, the time " 
 
 "No, not that one. But the other. You know. Where 
 you take a hatchet along and cut a little hole in the 
 ice, then put the trap down below it. In the water where 
 it's not too deep. I " 
 
 "Oh, yes! I remember now. That's a pippin of a 
 set! Best of all! Father used to try with that over 
 in the Valley. He got the great Cedar Hollow beaver 
 that way. Told you about it once, didn't I?" 
 
 "Yes. Well, why not try the same thing here? And 
 then when they see the light coming in at the hole they'll
 
 THE MASK 247 
 
 swim over to it under the ice and reach up. Whoops! 
 Away goes their hind leg in the set and they're drowned 
 in a jiffy. It's a real clever way of making it, I think. 
 We could have used it long ago if the pool had only 
 been frozen right when we were there. My! But it's 
 cold! Glad we're most back!" 
 
 As soon as the boys reached home, and broached the 
 matter to their parents, tall John Allyn gave ready con- 
 sent. Indeed, since the killing of the deer, he had been 
 so proud of his son that he would have granted the lad 
 anything he could within reason. Ever a boy at heart, 
 himself, he loved to see other boys making good at what 
 they had set out to do. Especially was he filled with 
 satisfaction when he caught a hint of the determination 
 that had kept his own son so faithfully at trapping. He 
 knew that the lad had been bitterly disappointed when 
 luck gave the younger boy the deer, but he rejoiced to 
 see that this dulled in no way Bob's effort and spirit. 
 As he used to say to him: 
 
 "Bob, there's too little life in most folks. They don't 
 catch the joy of doing things heartily enough. Not by 
 half, they don't and that's the trouble. Possum souls, 
 I call 'em! Why I'd lots liever lose a good fight with 
 my whole spirit in it than win most all the world with 
 not the sport of trying!" 
 
 Hugh Thomas, however, did not look at the thing Just 
 as they had expected. The farmer could no longer resist 
 the lure of trying his own hand at the game. Though 
 they were anxious to make the sets themselves, the boys 
 were delighted at having him come along, so keen for 
 the fun he proved to be. The man kept them attentive
 
 248 SANDY FLASH 
 
 all the long walk over, as he talked of the experiences 
 of his own boyhood days with traps and snares and old- 
 time gun. At the pool, Hugh Thomas showed them how 
 to cut the hole in the ice properly and how to place the 
 set as it ought to be below it. While there, they put 
 two other traps in position. One of these was near the 
 dam, where the beavers had locked the tree trunks as 
 only beaver can. Another was on a log in the spillway 
 below, where the water was not frozen. They agreed to 
 look the pond over the next afternoon, as it was the 
 only day the boys could be spared for some time. Still 
 talking of the olden days, they trudged homeward over 
 the drifted fields, but back of it all in the minds of the 
 three was the thought of the shivering men by Mountjoy 
 Forge in the Valley. That was the driving need for 
 every pelt they could win. 
 
 After noontide dinner, the next day, true to plans, 
 Dave and Bob set out, bent upon making the most of the 
 short hours of light. 
 
 "I thought so." Dave feigned disgust, as he looked 
 at the traps. "Only one caught and that is in father's! 
 Reckon he does know a thing or two about it, after all. 
 He'll crow loud over this!" 
 
 It was true. Hugh Thomas had made the ice set well 
 and a fair pelt was his reward. However, the boys knew 
 the trick of it now and reset all three traps in the same 
 way. Before the winter was over, they, thanks to 
 Hugh's lesson, succeeded in catching almost as many 
 beaver as mink and lesser game, but not all of these 
 were in the Crum Creek pool, of course. They had to
 
 THE MASK 249 
 
 walk or ride many a weary mile into the deeper wood- 
 lands after them. 
 
 This afternoon, loaded down with Hugh's catch, they 
 turned south along the brook and followed the same route 
 they had taken so unwillingly the day Flash and Mordecai 
 Dougherty had made them captives. Neither boy knew 
 just why, but as they approached the height of Castle 
 Rock, with its gloomy pile of rocks bulking like a ruined 
 tower upon the summit, a desire to climb again to the 
 cave possessed them. 
 
 "What do you say, Bob? You willing? Suppose he's 
 there?" Dave shuddered in mock fear. He felt quite 
 sure that the outlaw was not there or anywhere else 
 in the neighborhood. If he had, he would have been the 
 last to suggest running needlessly to danger. 
 
 "If you want! We've got a gun." Bob Allyn was 
 unarmed, carrying the beaver, but the other boy had 
 Hugh Thomas's flintlock slung across his shoulder by a 
 strap. "We'd better keep our eyes open, though. No 
 sense heading into anything blindfolded!" 
 
 "Not the least bit," Dave approved heartily of that. 
 "Let's stalk it. Shall we? Just for a lark!" 
 
 Separating, they began to close in upon the entrance 
 to the cave, working their way from cover to cover, scant 
 as that was beneath the chill of midwinter. Still, it was 
 sport of the best and it gave them good practice as well 
 as thrill. They both had felt from the start their pre- 
 cautions were not really needed and they were right. 
 The cave was as empty as it had been the morning when 
 Flash had fled from it.
 
 250 SANDY FLASH 
 
 "Here's the old fireplace. Look!" Bob kicked at the 
 ashes with his foot. "And here's the same little rod he 
 was getting into shape for you, Dave. My! But it's 
 dark in here. Got a light?" 
 
 Dave did not have the needed tinder, flint and steel, 
 so the boys were forced to content themselves with what 
 reflected snow sheen came slanting in through the hole 
 in the roof. It was not enough temptation to dally, so 
 they crawled again to the outer ledge of rock beneath 
 the vines. Since they had been there before, these had 
 lost most of their leaves and now afforded little or no 
 cover. Bob kicked at them with his foot, then pushed 
 over a loose stone from the ledge. Watching it bound 
 down the precipitous slope in front of them, he suddenly 
 touched Dave's arm. 
 
 "I say, what about going down this way? We can 
 make it easy enough now there's so much snow caught 
 between the rocks. Did you ever know, Dave, that this 
 place up here used to be a great find for buzzards' eggs?" 
 
 "So somebody said. Oh, yes, Cunningham up at the 
 MacAfees', it was. He was telling me about it the other 
 day when I left the horses in their barn. The very time 
 I got the deer. He came here last summer to look for 
 'em, Cunningham did, and found a nest they were using." 
 
 "That's what he said to me," Bob giggled delightedly. 
 "Did he tell you what happened next? It always strikes 
 me so funny I have to laugh! Kind of disgusting, too." 
 
 "He did! And mad he was about it!" Dave joined 
 in the other's merriment. "Good old Cunny! He saw 
 the nest up among the rocks, and he thought he'd just 
 sneak close to it without much bother from the big
 
 THE MASK 251 
 
 bald-jowled buzzard that was perched on a dead stick 
 of a tree a bit higher, eyeing him kind of sleepy like. 
 Cunny crawled along all right, then just as he spied two 
 of the finest eggs you ever heard tell of in the nest, and 
 was reaching for 'em, away went all that ugly old critter's 
 craw on top of him. He caught it full and plenty!" 
 
 "I'd often heard tell they'd do that, turkey buz- 
 zards." Bob still chortled with glee. "But I never knew 
 it for sure. Reckon old Cunningham got about all the 
 egg-gathering he wanted for a while. Must have been a 
 sight!" 
 
 "So he said. Can't blame him, myself. There's the 
 very place where the nest was. See it up there? By the 
 split rock?" Dave pointed. "Not worth climbing to, 
 though. How about getting on down? It's kind of late. 
 I'll go first." 
 
 Crawling over the snowy face of the drop was not the 
 easy job they had fancied, but each lad had plenty of 
 training in taking care of himself, so down they got in 
 safety. At the foot, young Thomas rested for a moment 
 on a boulder, while he worked some loose snow from the 
 top of his moccasin. Bob busied himself breaking a yard- 
 long icicle into bits and shying it against the trunk 
 of an oak tree that offered a target tempting his skill. 
 One slim foil of ice caught by some trick of chance in 
 the bark, remaining there as though it were an arrow. 
 
 "I say! Look yonder, Dave! Who's Robin Hood 
 now? Bet you couldn't do it like that in a hundred 
 years!" He ran forward pointing, but the splinter of 
 ice fell from its place as he neared it. "Oh, too bad!" 
 
 He bent forward to pick up the dart, but it had sunk
 
 252 SANDY FLASH 
 
 from view in the drift that lapped the foot of the tree. 
 He dug down after it with his gloved hand, as Dave 
 walked toward him. 
 
 "Come along, Bob." The younger boy stamped till the 
 moccasin settled comfortably once more to his foot. "It's 
 awfully late. Really, it is. What in the world have you 
 got in your hand? Looks like a " 
 
 "That's what I wrmt to know myself!" He was hold- 
 ing up a queer piece of blackened leather about six or 
 seven inches long and almost as wide. A string of raw- 
 hide thong dangled from one corner. He had come upon 
 it near the roots of the oak, buried in snow. "Now tell 
 me! What can you make of that!" 
 
 He slapped the stiffened, moldy leather sharply against 
 his leg to clear it of ice, then suddenly held it at arm's 
 length for the other's inspection. Dave, facing it, saw 
 first what the thing really was. 
 
 "A mask! Turn it round, Bob, and see!" He reached 
 for it eagerly. "Let's have it a second. The strangest 
 one I ever saw! But that's what it is, all right. Look 
 here!" He raised it to the level of his face and peered 
 through the twin holes at his chum. "Isn't k that?" 
 
 It was, in all truth, a sort of rude mask or face-guard, 
 cut from heavy leather. Eye holes had been let into it 
 neatly enough. The thong was attached to one side at 
 the top, while another hole was punched opposite it, evi- 
 dently for making it fast, when worn. The significance 
 of it drove home to the boys' minds sharply, instantly. 
 
 "Feel it?" Dave tried to bend the leather. "Hard 
 as any board! But it's made from a " 
 
 "A blacksmith's apron!" Bob looked at the eye spaces
 
 THE MASK 253 
 
 more closely. "And the man that cut these holes knew 
 how to handle his tool, too! It's stiff now from lying 
 in the weather, but that's what it's made of, all right. 
 See the stains? He's smoothed the edges with a smithy's 
 paring knife!" 
 
 "How how long's it been here, do you think?" Dave 
 felt a little shiver of warning creep up the back of his 
 neck. "Could Sandy Flash have " 
 
 Bob glanced quickly round, but the afternoon was still 
 and hushed as ever. Across the little valley, the glory 
 of a winter sunset touched the snow on Edgemont Hill 
 to a flaming diadem of silver. Allyn hesitated a moment, 
 then flung aside the mask. 
 
 "We can't tell how long, Davey. Not now. It's 
 Flash, though, must have made it! Hurry! Take the 
 beaver, will you ! Let me have the gun ! "
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 THE LOG SET 
 
 what I can't make out is why he'd ever use a 
 like that." Bob Allyn was helping his father 
 at milking, the Monday morning after finding the mask. 
 "It wouldn't give him any real guard, though it was 
 heavy as could be. I say! Easy there, Dolly!" The 
 boy pressed his head closer to the cow's flank to avoid 
 the swish of her tail. Then he went on with steady 
 play of wrist and fingers till the bucket frothed full. "Do 
 you think, father, he's been back at Castle Rock? Good 
 Dave and I got home before it rained last night and 
 froze all over everything." 
 
 "He may well have been, son, he may well have, but 
 I doubt it. It's a pity you didn't bring that mask home 
 with you. I'd like to have had a look at it. From a 
 leather apron, you reckon? I'll wager it was just to hide 
 his face, and he made it out of whatever he happened to 
 have handy. Oh, well, we've no manner of trouble this 
 many a day, so why complain! As granddaddy used to 
 have it: ' 'tis time and plenty to bid the Devil good morn- 
 ing when you meet him.' Wise old gaffer!" 
 
 "I guess it's the best way to look at it. Maybe we 
 weren't on the watch coming home last evening, though! 
 I wanted Dave Thomas to give me his father's gun and 
 for him to take the beaver. He told me he reckoned not! 
 He's plenty of courage, Davey has, for all his size!" 
 
 254
 
 THE LOG SET 255 
 
 Big John Allyn chuckled to himself. This was the 
 sort of spirit he liked to find in boys. He admired the 
 younger lad's holding on to his flintlock quite as much 
 as he did his own son's wish to have it. 
 
 "We'll have a look at the mask again, some of these 
 days, Bob. There's likely a clue to it we wot not of. 
 Dave Thomas did as he should have done in keeping 
 his weapon. A man mustn't let other folks do his fight- 
 ing for him, you know! All through? Mother's waiting 
 for a fresh pail, you'd better hurry. She can strain it 
 now while I finish here in the barn. It'll take no time 
 at all. I'll be in for breakfast. Don't wait, I'll be right 
 after you." 
 
 While the farmer busied himself completing early 
 chores, Bob carried the milk to the house. The queer 
 mask puzzled him provokingly, the more he thought of 
 it, but he never did solve its mystery. Nor was he able 
 to find it again. John Allyn was probably right in his 
 supposition that the thing was a disguise which Flash 
 had cut from his smithy's apron, because he happened 
 to have it near at hand. Many years afterwards, the 
 old bit of leather was unearthed once more at Castle 
 Rock, moldy and warped with wet and exposure, but 
 unmistakably the same as that which Bob and Dave had 
 tossed so carelessly aside the afternoon they caught the 
 beaver in the Crum Creek pool. 
 
 After breakfast, Bob's father went out on the steps 
 and looked earnestly at the winter clouds. He seemed 
 to feel in his bones what he was wont to call a "skift 
 of snow." However, it did not bother him much, for 
 a little later he called to the boy and told him that
 
 256 SANDY FLASH 
 
 he wanted him to ride on an errand of importance far 
 up in the country near Goshen Meeting. With proper 
 judgment of pace, the lad would have ample time to reach 
 there by noon, deliver the message, then be home in 
 Providence before the day was spent. 
 
 Bob started at once, glad of the chance for a long jaunt 
 in the saddle, icy though the roads were. It was the sort 
 of work he loved. At Goshen, he saw the farmer, gave 
 the message about the purchase of a heifer, then, having 
 eaten a hearty dinner, turned his horse's head toward 
 home. It was a good deal later in the afternoon than 
 he had realized, but there was still no need for rush. 
 
 Just beyond Button's Mill, Bob drew rein. For an 
 instant he hesitated, uncertain of the time, then he nodded 
 his head quickly with decision. Sliding from the saddle, 
 he gave his reins a twist or two about a branch that 
 jutted from a wayside sassafras and turned once more 
 toward the west. He glanced anxiously at the sky. The 
 sun was just sinking over Rocky Hill, a riotous glory of 
 color that made the boy pause in wonder at its beauty. 
 It was not that, however, which held him to-day so much, 
 as it was the look of the cloud banks fast rolling up from 
 the forest rim more to the north. The fiery splendor 
 did not deceive him at all. Weatherwise, as all his people, 
 he had long since learned to read the signs of sky and 
 cloud and wind. Farmers, dependent entirely on the 
 land and what they could win from it, the Allyns had 
 unconsciously gained a respect for nature and her moods. 
 They were sprung from folk racy of the soil. Their 
 bread, their very livelihood, came from their ability to 
 interpret and heed the warnings of the out of doors.
 
 THE LOG SET 257 
 
 Those dull gray clouds, heavy, low-lying, sweeping in 
 over the highland between the Turk's Head and Goshen 
 Meeting, meant snow. And Bob knew it. 
 
 Again he looked at the sun, reckoning the daylight 
 left him, weighing in his mind whether or not he would 
 have time to slip down the ravine to the otter pool and 
 still reach home before snowfall. He rather felt he 
 would not, but then there was the log set, his final try 
 for the king otter. He had put it out a few days before, 
 unknown to any one, and staked everything on the result 
 of the effort. The evening air, chill with coming snow, 
 the rising wind, the ominous storm cutting fast into the 
 west, decided him. He would risk it. If he did not, it 
 might be days before he could get so far up Ridley again. 
 Bob yanked the reins to test their hold, then with a pat 
 on his horse's neck, slipped from the lane and hastened 
 through the forest. It would not do to keep the animal 
 standing in the cold very long. 
 
 Late in the day though it was, everything had been 
 attended to, and the boy was free to do as he pleased. 
 He had neared the haunt of the otter, jogging along 
 above it on the Boot Road without really noting the ap- 
 proaching clouds. Fairie Hill, White Horse, Edgemont 
 and home lay before him. It was not so terribly far, 
 at that. The going was bad, too slippery for speed, de- 
 spite the roughing of his mount's shoes. A bit of snow, 
 provided it did not come too savagely, might well give 
 footing and help him on his way. That thought decided 
 him. 
 
 Bob, hurrying along far down the hollow, pushed aside 
 the last of the alders. The branches cracked slightly, a
 
 258 SANDY FLASH 
 
 shower of ice crystals falling from them in the dimming 
 glow of sunset. The thicket was a fairy-land, a veritable 
 place of make-believe, studded with jewels, brilliants in 
 silver settings, diamonds cold with the evening hush of 
 the forest, amethysts aflame with the blaze of the reflected 
 sky. Each tiniest twig of bush and brier, vine and sap- 
 ling, stood out sheathed in ice, stiff, distinct, a thin 
 saber of light and fire, amazingly beautiful, sparkling, 
 unreal. Beyond lay Ridley, silent beneath its frozen 
 surface, the falls hushed, the pool of the otters partially 
 veiled in lengthening shadows. A midwinter rain, blow- 
 ing up unexpectedly the night before, had turned to sleet, 
 then frozen in a change of weather. The result was 
 the loveliest of nature's pageantries a twilight forest 
 transformed by the magic of an ice storm. Luckily the 
 wind had been low and few branches had broken beneath 
 their silvery burden. Snow had not yet fallen. 
 
 Bob had no thought for that, however. He had made 
 up his mind and, storm or no, he would see to his traps. 
 The boy's eyes were ahead, searching through the bushes 
 and tree trunks, darting here and there over the pond, 
 keen and eager for signs. Suddenly he broke through 
 the glass-like wands of the undergrowth, and slid with 
 a rush down the slope of the pool. At the bank, he 
 stopped, heart running high in excitement. Had the new 
 trap been sprung? Could luck have come to him at last? 
 
 Bob had learned a deal of woodcraft since that day, 
 so many weeks before, when he and Dave had made their 
 set for coon in the hollow log near Hunting Hill. He 
 had come to love the chance of it all, the good luck and 
 the bad, the skill of his hands and brain against the
 
 THE LOG SET 259 
 
 greater cunning of the wild creatures he sought to snare. 
 He had tasted, too, the surpassing zest of being put upon 
 his mettle. He liked that, especially. It stirred up the 
 manhood in him, made him feel that fighting urge which 
 comes to every healthy boy, spurring him on to see a 
 thing through, however difficult ; once he has begun it. 
 
 The great Ridley otter, that savage old lord of the 
 brook, was still at large, still leaving its tracks, five-toed, 
 deep-printed, boldly defiant, all about the banks. That 
 was as much, however, as Bob ever saw of it. Those 
 same tracks had come to mean a sort of challenge to 
 him. Their very individuality marked them as apart 
 from the other tracks and trails he had followed. They 
 had tempted him into the woodland many a day by 
 himself. They had led him to slip away from Dave, 
 whenever he could do so without the other's knowledge, 
 and trudge far up Ridley toward Button's Mill, there to 
 stalk the pond with all the patience of an Indian, to lie 
 for hours in the cold and wind, to try trick after trick, 
 set after set, seeking the one that might take the old 
 otter, for the nonce, off guard. Bob meant to get that 
 particular otter, if it took all winter. The lad was the 
 more determined because he felt that Dave had given 
 up the game as useless, that his comrade was contenting 
 himself with joking at his expense. The older boy was 
 quite wrong there, but the thought drove him doggedly 
 on in the face of repeated failure. 
 
 The thing had started the night they had escaped from 
 the cave at Castle Rock, when Bob had foolishly boasted 
 of a scheme that could not fail. Unfortunately, like 
 many other fine projects in the world, it had failed, failed
 
 26o SANDY FLASH 
 
 not merely once but several times. Since then, the boy, 
 with true Scotch determination, had had scant peace of 
 mind. -When Dave had gotten the stag, it seemed as 
 though the last straw had come. That was several weeks 
 ago. To-day, Bob had come down to the pond with 
 more anxiety than ever. He had done his level best. If 
 his last plan failed, he knew of nothing more he could 
 try. 
 
 He had made use of every wile, every trick of trapping, 
 every kind of set and cunning snare that he could think 
 of. He had laid traps in the otter slide itself. He had 
 hidden them above the slide and in the hole up the bank, 
 and again, along the water's edge. He had even built 
 crafty cubbies and despairingly concealed sets in them, 
 but all to no purpose. Sometimes he had been successful 
 in catching other game, but never the giant otter on 
 which he had put his heart. Mink and muskrat were all 
 very well, welcome enough in the race for pelts he was 
 running with Dave, but the big king otter was what he 
 felt he needed to offset the stag of Hunting Hill. Nothing 
 else could quite do that. 
 
 The nearest he had come to luck was the day when 
 he had caught a small male otter by trapping in the 
 short-cut that the animals used overland from one bend 
 in the stream to another. Even then, the catch was 
 marred by the thought that Dave it was who had told 
 him of this otter characteristic and put the particular 
 scheme in mind. Back of all his efforts lay the knowledge 
 that the men of the army were freezing, literally freezing 
 to death, through lack of proper clothing to turn the 
 chills of winter. Bob Allyn was going to catch that otter
 
 THE LOG SET 261 
 
 and take its skin to Valley Forge if it was the last thing 
 he ever did. 
 
 To-day's outlay was different from any he had tried 
 before. It was Bob's very own. The lad halted at the 
 edge of the thinly frozen pond and scanned the surface 
 dubiously. Last night's rain had touched everything with 
 a sheath of silver, but the ice of the dam was pitted and 
 mushy beneath. Bob tested it with practised toe. It 
 bent a bit, straining and groaning, as ice sometimes will, 
 but he knew it would hold. Slowly, cautiously, he began 
 to edge along over the treacherous going toward a log, 
 a poplar trunk, that lay embedded well out toward the 
 middle. Peering forward through the shadows that fast 
 were veiling the ravine, the boy sought vainly to mark 
 the set at the end of the log, but snow clouds had sud- 
 denly blotted the flare of sunset. He could distinguish 
 nothing very clearly. He would have to work his way 
 out to the poplar itself. 
 
 Bob's final try for the otter was the cleverest thing 
 he had done since he had taken to trapping in the fall 
 of the year. The lad had hit upon the unique scheme 
 of setting his trap in the poplar log, not on it. Actually 
 sunken in the top of the wood itself. He had gone out 
 to the log and worked there in safety despite the un- 
 certainty of the ice. That had been before the rain. 
 Otter droppings at the very end of that poplar had caught 
 his eye the time he and Dave had first come up Ridley 
 and seen the giant tracks. The boy thus had as a founda- 
 tion for his set the knowledge that otters were in the 
 habit of climbing on that particular log. His first try, 
 the simple trick of putting a trap on top of it for them,
 
 262 SANDY FLASH 
 
 had failed utterly, discouragingly. Now, however, he 
 had developed the idea. He had cut away a thin slab 
 of moss, half a foot or so from the end. Then he had 
 gouged out the bark and wood beneath until he had 
 made a little depression as deep as he needed. Setting 
 the trap in it, he had carefully replaced a thin cover of 
 moss, taking care to conceal the chain, too, in a groove 
 cut in like fashion. When he had finished, it was quite 
 impossible to detect any sign of the set. Bob had finally 
 baited his snare by putting a branch of popple, a tender, 
 new-growth shoot, on the log a foot above the spot where 
 the trap lay hidden. He had found some gnawed sticks 
 of that wood one day near the pool and rightly judged 
 that the otters liked to chew the bark. Whether they 
 would touch it in winter, he did not know. 
 
 It was as well thought out a plan as any woodsman 
 could boast of. Best of all, the lad had used his own 
 good brains in building it up, one point after another, 
 the whole thing founded upon his first-hand observation 
 of the habits of the animal he was after. Bob Allyn felt 
 a little glow of pride as he edged out over the pond. If 
 he did succeed, if his woodcraft made good, why, Dave 
 himself would have to yield the trapping prize to him. 
 It would outweigh the lucky shot that won the stag, for 
 this was work, not luck, from start to finish. The film 
 of ice about the log was the only bit of luck in his favor. 
 That must have killed his scent as well as the warning 
 taint of metal. On the other hand, he feared it might 
 have served to lock the trap and prevent its closing fast 
 enough. 
 
 Bob moved forward another foot, then tried to halt,
 
 THE LOG SET 263 
 
 as the slippery surface beneath snapped unexpectedly with 
 a loud report. It was not bending now, it was splitting 
 away from him in alarming cracks. Like snakes, he saw 
 the fissures opening in twisting lines of black against 
 the sheen of ice. He watched them a moment fascinated, 
 those widening cracks, noting the ebb and flow of the 
 water as it welled up through the rending edges. Then, 
 wise in the ways of a country boy, he dropped flat on his 
 stomach and squirmed crablike for the log, attempting 
 to distribute his weight over as great a spread as he could 
 and at the same time keep his body in motion. It was 
 his one chance. Even as he fought to save himself from 
 the yielding ice and the black depths of the pool be- 
 neath, Bob's eyes peered toward the end of the fallen tree. 
 He could not see the trap; it was too dark. The waters 
 of Ridley rolled up and all support seemed to drop away 
 below. The boy kept his head, struggling madly against 
 the paralyzing cold. He knew if he once went under in 
 that current, he would be drawn far downstream toward 
 the dam where ice was thicker. That meant death, death 
 beneath a roof he could not break. A rat drowning in a 
 trap! 
 
 Bob in sudden terror gripped at the slippery edge be- 
 fore him. It crumbled away, mushy, in his grasp. His 
 water-logged clothing, heavy homespun, drew him stead- 
 ily downward, irresistible, all the weightier for the sucking 
 tug of the stream about his booted feet. He made a 
 herculean effort to resist, to keep afloat by savage strength, 
 thrashing out wildly, all judgment gone in a panic oi 
 fear. The boy's head went under.
 
 264 SANDY FLASH 
 
 It must have been well after eight o'clock that night 
 when Dave Thomas met his chum's horse coming rider- 
 less into the lane, head tossed high, broken reins lashing 
 from side to side. The storm had rushed down from the 
 northwest in fury two hours earlier, driving the snow in 
 vicious drifts before it, uprooting the ice-laden trees, 
 tearing loose great branches from the oaks themselves, 
 crushing young apples and pears in the orchard to ruin. 
 It was no night for any one to be abroad. Luck alone 
 had sent the terrified animal to the shelter of the Thomas 
 barn, just as Dave came out of it. Nine times out of 
 ten, the horse would have turned aside at Blue Hill and 
 sought its own stable, but to-night it had come to the 
 other familiar barn. Dave had gone down there to see 
 that all was well for the night against the blizzard, and 
 he now was struggling, head held low, to regain the 
 house. A glance sufficed him. Bob must have been hurt 
 somewheres. Either the horse had slipped and thrown 
 him or he had been struck by a falling branch. It was 
 trouble of some sort, clearly, and desperately serious. 
 
 Dave was a quick thinker. He already knew that his 
 chum had ridden up toward Goshen Meeting that morning, 
 expecting to be back before dark. He knew it because 
 John Allyn had stopped in at the Thomas farmhouse late 
 that afternoon to see his father. While there, he had 
 mentioned to Dave that Bob was off on an all-day errand 
 in connection with a cattle sale. The big farmer had 
 added further that the boy spoke of something he hoped 
 to attend to at the MacAfees' some trapping thing or 
 other, he thought it was, with the man there. 
 
 There was but one thing to be done now. Dave's mind
 
 THE LOG SET 265 
 
 was working at lightning speed. Get over to Edgemont 
 without delay, see if Bob had gotten that far on his way 
 home, then, if he had not ; set out on the road toward 
 Button's Mill, with Cunningham along to help. Dave, 
 "for all his quiet ways, could put plenty of action into play 
 once he realized the need for it. Catching the ripped 
 reins of Bob's horse, he knotted them fast, swung to 
 the saddle, turned the unwilling beast hard about and 
 plunged doggedly through the mounting drifts for Provi- 
 dence Road. Not till he was well past Blue Hill, brought 
 almost to a standstill by the lash of the wind and the 
 cut of snow in his face, did he remember that he had 
 left no word with his people. It was too late now, how- 
 ever, and the boy sunk his head deeper between the collar 
 of his coat and kept on. Unconsciously, he noted his 
 progress by the ancient markers of the wayside the few 
 remaining sentinels of the Hollingsworth Apples. He 
 could not get back now, even if he wanted to. It was 
 all he could hope for to reach the MacAfees' and leave 
 the exhausted horse there. 
 
 Just how he ever did manage to make the little farm 
 near Castle Rock Dave never knew. The last few hun- 
 dred yards from Edgemont crossways, he covered on 
 foot, plunging and staggering about in the snow, dragging 
 the sullen horse along behind him by the bridle reins. 
 Twice the animal fell headlong in a drift and Dave had 
 all he could do to get him on his feet again. The lad 
 was ready to give up, conquered by the cold, the smother- 
 ing beat of the wind, and the snow about his feet that 
 held him back so cruelly, when at last he viewed lights 
 in the MacAfee windows. They were far off and looked
 
 266 SANDY FLASH 
 
 the size of sixpence, but they gave him new courage. 
 That, and the thought of Bob. Perhaps, even now, his 
 comrade was lying out in this storm, pinned beneath some 
 crippling bough, dying slowly under the savage whip 
 of the wind, the cold no life could long resist. Dave 
 struggled toward the welcome gleam, little guessing the 
 truth. 
 
 At the farm lane, the boy turned in to the north, 
 shutting his eyes against the driving gale. He would stall 
 his mount first, then run for the house and Cunningham's 
 help. The stable shed lay to the rear, a little way uphill. 
 Dave hurried on, new strength coming to him, as he 
 neared his goal. Even the horse, nearly done for, now 
 plunged through the drifts with some show of effort; 
 he, too, sensed shelter ahead. They came at last, half 
 blind, numb, weak with chill, the pair of them, into the 
 lee of the stable, rough-hewn of logs dovetailed together. 
 
 Dave entered, struggling, gasping, rubbing his eyes 
 clear. Then he felt for a tying shank. There was no 
 time to lose. The place was dim-gray, indistinct, hazy 
 with light from the snow without. He could hear other 
 horses near him, munching steadily, grinding away at 
 their hay. Now and then one of them shifted restlessly 
 in the deep straw or paused, gulping, to lip more fodder 
 from the rack. It was a comfortable, reassuring sort of 
 sound, one that he knew well. The boy's vitality quick- 
 ened on the instant to the warm, moist air of the place, 
 the animal heat, the momentary let-up from the sav- 
 agery of the blizzard without. He would tether the 
 horse, as soon as he could find that provoking shank. 
 He knew it was there. Then with Cunningham, he would
 
 THE LOG SET 267 
 
 Dave ducked and flung up his arm. Why he did so, 
 he could not say, but that instinctive warding of a blow, 
 that defense quicker than mind can function, saved his 
 life. 
 
 A man had sprung at the lad from the shadow of the 
 stalls, without warning, without sound, aiming a vicious, 
 crushing blow for his head. Dave's quickness in dodg- 
 ing, as the shadow filled the doorway, allowed the club 
 to whistle harmlessly past him. It flew from the fellow's 
 grip with its own momentum. They closed on the in- 
 stant. Dave was too startled, too bewildered, to under- 
 stand at all what was happening, but he knew that he 
 must fight and fight for his very life. That was enough. 
 The struggling pair toppled over, each striving to get 
 some purchase on the other, as they rolled about in the 
 straw. 
 
 Dave was never more fit in his life. Farm chores 
 had steeled his muscles, sweated out the fat. Outdoor 
 work and sport, day in, day out, under every sort of 
 weather, about the place and in the forest, had tough- 
 ened him amazingly, blending leanness with a deceiving 
 power of speed. Clean, straight living had lent him en- 
 durance and the grit to hang on. He felt the man trying 
 for his throat and fought the harder. The boy had passed 
 sixteen this January and knew a thing or two about 
 a rough-and-tumble. He twisted clear, leaving half his 
 coat and the shirt beneath it in the fellow's fingers. 
 An instant later, they had closed again, this time the 
 boy getting in a smashing blow on the other's body before 
 the clinch. 
 
 Over and over went the two of them, their breath*com-
 
 268 SANDY FLASH 
 
 ing in short grunts, their lungs straining for air, as first 
 one, then the other, rolled deep in the stifling straw dust. 
 That was the worst of it. Dave managed, for the time 
 being, to save his throat from the man's attack, some 
 instinct warning him to fight first for that. At the same 
 instant, he put his own good fists to use, jabbing repeated 
 blows with either arm into his assailant. He struck and 
 struck hard at short range, smashing for all he had in 
 him at face and jaw and kidneys. At every opening, 
 he struck. Not that he did not suffer in return. The 
 man, missing his try for the lad's throat, fought for his 
 unfair hold again, now going after the boy's eyes to 
 gouge them. 
 
 Once his fingers got purchase about Dave's hand. Be- 
 fore the boy could wrench it free, the right thumb had 
 been snapped back and crippled. An old trick and 
 vicious, excruciatingly painful, sickening one with nerve 
 shock. The ruffian's fight was foul from start to finish 
 while Dave's previous struggle with cold and wind and 
 punishment of snow had taken his strength, sapped his 
 power of reserve. But he fought on, the boy did dumbly, 
 warily, watching for openings, instant to take advantage 
 of them. 
 
 Two minutes more and the man and boy were blown 
 winded to a deadlock fast rolled in a clinch, Dave 
 below, stretched half in, half out, the shed door, the 
 other lying heavily upon him. The boy still kept his 
 hold on the man's wrist, however, as they both gasped 
 and strained for the fresher, snow-chilled air outside. 
 Dave's face was blackened with dust and dirt, scratched 
 with savage rips from the man's fingers. A smear of
 
 THE LOG SET 269 
 
 blood ran from his mouth where his lip was torn. A 
 fist blow had done that, but the lad had saved his jaw 
 and chin in time. He knew the vital nerve centers and 
 guarded them like a clever boxer. His clothes, such 
 rags as still were left him, hung in patches. The thumb 
 was a stab of fiery torture. But the man on top was 
 little better off. 
 
 A faint gleam from the storm penetrated the open 
 door and Dave saw the face above him, clearly, distinctly, 
 for the first time. It was disfigured with blood and 
 bruises, matted with stubbled beard and dirt, yet unmis- 
 takable. 
 
 Mordecai Dougherty! The accomplice of Sandy Flash! 
 The man who had so nearly taken their lives the day 
 he and Bob had been seized by the highwaymen! In a 
 flash, the lad recalled the cedar thicket and the cowardly 
 attack upon them there. Then the later terror of the 
 cave at Castle Rock! 
 
 A convulsive, wrenching turn took the outlaw off guard. 
 Over they rolled again, kicking, striking, tearing like brute 
 beasts while the straw chaff rose in choking clouds about 
 them. Dave saw that the man was desperate. He knew 
 that he could look for no mercy. If he died for it, the 
 boy was determined to pay off his old score first. Blind 
 with rage, sucking for air, spitting out dirt and blood, 
 his flesh slippery with sweat and grime, torn bare to the 
 waist and gleaming, the lad writhed and twisted, struck 
 and kicked, madly spending his strength to gain a telling 
 hold, to land a crippling blow. He had no plan. He 
 fought as a trapped beast fights to save his life. It 
 was not a nice thing to see.
 
 270 SANDY FLASH 
 
 Suddenly Dougherty's hand, quick drawn for a smash 
 to the face, touched the club he had dropped at the first 
 rush of the boy. His fingers closed upon it and he uttered 
 a grunting sort of laugh. Dave saw the move and struck 
 upward with his crippled right, lashing out despite the 
 torture in the tendon, every nerve and sinew and well 
 of grit in his body backing up the blow. It fell short. 
 
 Dougherty swung the bludgeon. 
 
 At that very instant, two hundred yards down the lane, 
 Bob Allyn was picking himself out of a snowdrift into 
 which he had fallen. The boy was bitterly cold, weary 
 with tramping. Angry, too, at the loss of his horse and 
 the ducking he had met with in Ridley. That had been 
 the worst, of course, and he realized, even in his disgust, 
 that he should the rather feel thankful for his life. Just 
 in time, as he had gone under the water and the ice 
 fragments had closed above his head, Bob's struggle had 
 brought him in touch with a branch of the submerged 
 poplar trunk. It had been an easy matter then for a lad 
 of his strength to pull up on it and so to shore. 
 
 Half an hour in the Duttons' kitchen by the mill saw 
 him warmed and dry in borrowed clothes. Then, against 
 the protests of the miller, he had started for home, riding 
 away just as the first snow flurries began to dance down 
 the upland meadows from Rocky Hill. They soon cov- 
 ered the icy going of the old Boot Road and led Bob 
 into a false feeling of safety. He quickened his pace. 
 By Fairie Hill, he and the horse came down together 
 in a scrambling pile, luckily unhurt, save for a bruised 
 knee. Before the boy could get to his feet, the animal, 
 already cold and fidgeting under the long delay of the
 
 THE LOG SET 271 
 
 ride, had broken free. It was sullen lad enough who heard 
 the hoofbeats throb to silence off where White Horse Hill 
 bulked gray before him through the blinding scuds of 
 snow. There was nothing now save walking and Bob 
 set about it with the best grace he could muster. 
 
 The storm, coming as it did from his back, helped 
 a bit, but the wind and drifts soon convinced him that 
 he would never make Sycamore Mills that night. Nor 
 the Rose Tree either. He had suffered more shock than 
 he had reckoned with, plunging into Ridley through the 
 ice. Wisely, he turned aside at Edgemont. He would 
 put up at the MacAfees' overnight, then on in the morn- 
 ing for home. As to the horse, he could do nothing 
 about that now. The contrary brute had taken things 
 its own way and would have to face the storm as best 
 it might. Bob heaved himself from the snow of the 
 lane and struggled onward. The lighted windows of the 
 farmhouse looked mighty inviting and warm, a fair haven 
 in need. The boy had faced about all he could stand 
 for one day. And he knew it. 
 
 He saw by the time he had neared the building that 
 the good people had not gone to bed as early as usual. 
 Doubtless William MacAfee and his wife were making 
 the most of their son's leave Captain Robert MacAfee, 
 of the Continental Line. Bob had heard that he was 
 there for a day or two. Rachel Walker, a neighbor from 
 Tredyffrin, in the Valley, was also stopping with them 
 on a visit. Dave Thomas had told him so. Cunningham, 
 as keen a trapper as the boys themselves, and their rare 
 good friend, to boot, made the fifth of the little Edgemont 
 household.
 
 272 SANDY FLASH 
 
 Bob glanced through a window as he fought his way 
 round to the kitchen in the rear, mildly surprised to see 
 no one within. It was too cold for delay, however, so 
 he pushed at the door without knocking, glad to find it 
 unlatched this late at night. He entered, blowing on 
 his numbed hands, relieved, yet vaguely puzzled. Foot- 
 steps overhead caught his attention and he crossed to 
 the stairway. Something was wrong. Somebody must 
 have been taken ill and seriously. The confusion of 
 the room, the opened drawers in the dresser, the people 
 all above, pointed to that. Could the Captain have been 
 brought home wounded? Surely he would have heard 
 of that? The boy hesitated, then set foot on the lower 
 step. He would call softly and see if At that very 
 moment there came a thud overhead, followed instantly 
 by a scream and the sound of a struggle, terrifying in 
 its sudden shattering of silence. Bob Allyn sprang up 
 the stairs two steps at a time. 
 
 Reaching the room above, he saw a sight that mo- 
 mentarily paralyzed him, halting him, breathless, at the 
 door, unable for the moment to take in what was happen- 
 ing. Captain MacAfee, in his stocking feet, the buff and 
 blue tunic of his uniform off, was close locked in a fero- 
 cious struggle with another man, toppling here and there 
 about the room, upsetting chairs, crashing into the table, 
 threatening with every move to bring the plaster from 
 the walls. Mistress McAfee, his mother, death-white 
 with terror, the back of her hand pressed to her mouth, 
 crouched in a corner. Her scream had come to the boy 
 below. Now, she was too frightened to utter a sound.
 
 THE LOG SET 273 
 
 William MacAfee, the husband, lay struggling on the 
 floor, piteously trying to rise. Not at her, however, 
 nor at the old man, did Bob gaze in astonishment before 
 hurling himself into the fight. The fellow in the grip of 
 the Continental officer was Sandy Flash! The high- 
 wayman himself! Fast about the scoundrel's waist hung 
 Rachel Walker, hampering him, dragging him down, 
 bravely pinning his arms in a twist of the coverlet snatched 
 from the bed! 
 
 The boy, after that startled pause, regained his pres- 
 ence of mind and leaped through the door to help. He 
 reached the men just as Flash lost balance and fell. 
 The captain was on him like a shot. Rachel Walker, 
 as quick to seize her chance and follow it up, whipped 
 the coverlet over his head, drawing it tight about him, 
 smothering him in its folds. She was a young woman and 
 strong. 
 
 Before Bob could do more than grip at Flash's free 
 arm, as it flailed and lashed about in vicious blows, be- 
 fore he could fairly get his weight on it to help the cap- 
 tain, the night without roared to the discharge of a flint- 
 lock. The glass of a casement tinkled sharply below. 
 Captain MacAfee, still fighting desperately for the out- 
 law's wrists, called sharply to his mother: 
 
 "The gun! His pistol! Give it to the boy! Quick, 
 you, fire down the stairs when they rush us! Shout for 
 Cunningham! Call for help!" 
 
 He redoubled his effort to hold the man straining so 
 savagely beneath him. Sandy Flash fought like one pos- 
 sessed. His strength was incredible, but the bed cover-
 
 274 SANDY FLASH 
 
 ing smothered and meshed him for the time being. A 
 pistol, evidently his, lay on the floor beyond the elder 
 MacAfee. 
 
 The urgency of the captain's voice brought the old 
 lady to her senses. As Bob cocked the weapon she thrust 
 into his hand, he heard voices below. And hurried steps. 
 A door slammed. He was just in time! They were 
 rushing the house already The lad ran for the stair- 
 head. Then he dropped his pistol arm, quite limply, and 
 fell back, amazement rendering him speechless. Dave 
 Thomas was leaping toward him up the steps, blackened 
 face scarcely recognizable for blood and dirt. Close be- 
 hind him sprang Cunninghim, his eyes wide with anxiety 
 and fright. Bob cried out sharply: 
 
 "Dave! What the I say" 
 
 "He's gotten away!" The boy's excitement had driven 
 his original fear for Bob entirely from his mind. Indeed, 
 he had forgotten what had brought him to Edgemont, 
 and that he had looked for no such meeting with his 
 chum here. "Fired through the window and galloped off 
 in the storm! Dougherty, it was, Flash's man!" The 
 younger lad, still panting, half naked, foul with the sweat 
 and grime of his struggle, held out a rusty sword. "Look, 
 Bob, he dropped this as he ran! In the snow! What's 
 how did you happen " 
 
 He stopped as his eyes for the first time caught sight 
 of Rachel Walker and the captain still struggling over 
 the writhing form on the floor. Old William MacAfee 
 had crawled to his knees, blood trickling down the side 
 of his face. The man was dazed, evidently in a good 
 deal of pain.
 
 THE LOG SET 275 
 
 "It's Flash himself!" Bob, recalled to the urgency of 
 the moment, found voice and shouted excitedly. "We've 
 got him down! Quick, Cunningham, help! I say, Dave, 
 let me past " 
 
 The serving man and the boy sprang through the door 
 in answer, quick to aid, while Bob, pistol in hand, rushed 
 by them down the stairs. The lad was fully awake to 
 their danger. His job it was to bolt and bar the house 
 and do it soon. Before Dougherty could return to help 
 his chief. 
 
 Half an hour later, Captain MacAfee finished telling 
 the boys of the attack, as he sat in the kitchen, flintlock 
 on knee, guarding Sandy Flash. The outlaw lay on 
 the floor, across the room, trussed hand and foot, quite 
 helpless, white with impotent fury. The part that Rachel 
 Walker had played in his capture, the realization that 
 a woman and a boy had helped to overcome him, mad- 
 dened him to rage unspeakable. Cunningham had ridden 
 off as fast as he could through the drifts, to summon 
 aid and alarm the neighbors. Before he left, he prom- 
 ised both boys that he would get reassuring word passed 
 on to their parents, so that they could ease their mind 
 on that score and not worry about anxiety at home. The 
 women were above with William MacAfee, seeing to 
 the wound in the old man's head. Dave and Bob had 
 explained their presence in the house to their mutual en- 
 lightenment, while they were helping barricade the lower 
 story. They were taking no chances on Mordecai Dough- 
 erty's return. 
 
 "I'd been sitting quiet all evening here in the kitchen
 
 276 SANDY FLASH 
 
 with my folks, the old people, you know, making the 
 most of a short leave from the Forge. That blackguard 
 yonder knocked at the door." Captain MacAfee glanced 
 toward the figure on the floor. "Cunningham had gone 
 out some time before. I let that ruffian in, thinking 
 he must be some neighbor caught in the storm. Never 
 suspicioned a thing! He pulled a pistol on me instanter! 
 Said he'd come round to levy dues on cursed rebels! 
 My share, he allowed, was one hundred and fifty pounds! 
 Sterling, at that! Likely I'd have it! Then he drove 
 us all before him up the stairs. I couldn't draw sword 
 nor pistol, for the fellow's weapon at my back! He or- 
 dered us about and fairly plundered the house, looking 
 for money. What little we had was hidden well. Finally, 
 he struck me with his butt and told me to take the very 
 pumps from off my feet and give 'em to him! I had to! 
 As he was trying 'em on, one foot resting on the bed, 
 Rachel Walker, my mother's friend upstairs, she grabbed 
 the pistol from his fist! Bravest thing I ever saw! I 
 jumped in to help and so did father. He hit that old 
 man before I could get at him! Hit him good and hard, 
 too! You saw the rest. Rachel Walker had lots of 
 nerve!" 
 
 Captain MacAfee's face set sternly a moment. Then 
 he ended his story. "She took him off his guard, but 
 you came in the nick of time to pull us through. With- 
 out your coming when you did, Bob Allyn, I'd have had 
 my hands full, and to spare! That man's like a bull 
 o' Bashan! I'd never have kept him down alone. To 
 say nothing of the other scoundrel getting upstairs to help!
 
 I couldn't draw sword nor pistol for the fellow's pistol at 
 
 my back.
 
 THE LOG SET 277 
 
 Owe that part to you, Dave, my friend." He glanced 
 across the room. 
 
 Dave shook his head, blushing quick with pleasure 
 none the less. The lad was striving to wash the stains 
 of fight from his body with a damp towel. His sprained 
 thumb had been bandaged. 
 
 "Don't thank me, Captain, thank David Cunningham! 
 As I do! I didn't do a blessed thing 'cept nearly get 
 killed! Couldn't find a tether for my horse. Was feel- 
 ing for it by the stalls. All of a sudden, he hit at me 
 with a club! Near the door, he was, that fellow Mor- 
 decai, out there. And I ducked to his shadow in time. 
 We had it pretty hot then for a minute or two, each 
 catching the other some pretty good stingers and getting 
 'em in return. But I saved my chin, the while! 
 
 "Then all of a sudden, I saw it was Mordecai Dough- 
 erty. That set me to raging! He'd kicked Bob, here, 
 when he was hurt and down, the last time, you know, 
 and he'd helped with the poker in the cave! I did my 
 best! He got me under finally in the straw, half choked. 
 Then he found his club by luck and picked it up. The 
 one he'd lost, you know, at the beginning. My hand 
 interfered and I couldn't smash him like I ought. Reckon 
 I was about done for, but Cunningham must have heard 
 the racket as he was coming past. Anyway he " 
 
 "Mighty lucky he came back when he did! He'd 
 gone up the hi 1 ! to see if the sheepcote was tight against 
 the storm. It's a blizzard, this time, for certain, lads!" 
 Captain MacAfee kept his eyes on the prostrate form 
 of Sandy Flash, as the wind pounded at the door and
 
 2 7 8 SANDY FLASH 
 
 roared about the eaves and chimney pots. The flames on 
 the hearth quivered high in answer, leaping up the maw 
 of the fireplace, or, now and then, spluttered angrily 
 to sudden whirls of snow driven downward by the gusts. 
 "He said" 
 
 "Yes, and that he came past the stable just when he 
 did, too! Another second and I'd been brained, like as 
 not, I reckon ! As it was, Cunningham jumped in and we 
 all had a rough and tumble of it. That took off what few 
 clothes I'd left on!" Dave pointed ruefully to his 
 scanty remnants. "That fellow's like a bear! He most 
 ripped me apart and tore me naked, then broke free! 
 We lost him in the dark. He fired through the window, 
 at us, after he'd gotten on his horse, but we were running 
 then across the kitchen to see what'd happened here! I 
 picked up the sword he dropped from his saddle. Didn't 
 have it on in the stable, anyway. It'll make a fine corn- 
 knife!" He laughed, then grew serious again. "If only 
 he hadn't got clear! I think I could match him by 
 myself in a fight that's half fair ! Thumb and all ! " 
 
 "Reckon you could, Davey, you old lion, but I'm most 
 glad, myself, he's gone." Bob spoke slowly, lowering 
 his voice so that the man across the room might not 
 catch his words. "Yes, even if he did get me once, like 
 he did. This Flash fellow is the one we really wanted 
 and both of us helped a good bit in the getting of him. 
 Do you know, Dave, I half think Dougherty was on our 
 side that night at the cave, when Sandy Flash had the 
 poker. Dougherty's a brute, all right, but he seems to 
 be mostly that way when Flash drives him to it. He 
 never was cold cruel, thinking things out ahead of time,
 
 THE LOG SET 279 
 
 like that beast over there!" Bob shuddered, as he re- 
 called the expression he had seen on the outlaw's face. 
 "We got the leader of the highwaymen and you helped 
 as much as I did, too. Remember that, Dave. I'll wager 
 Dougherty'll not cause much trouble, now, by himself. 
 He's too" 
 
 "Maybe you're right, but I hope they get him all the 
 same! I certainly hope they do. I wonder " Dave 
 thought of his recent fight and grinned wryly. Sprained 
 thumbs are sore reminders. As long as his was throbbing 
 as angrily as it was, the boy was not likely to feel much 
 pity for the man who had caused it. Dave Thomas was 
 human. 
 
 Could the boys have read the future, they would have 
 seen how close was their forecast to the facts. Mordecai 
 Dougherty was not captured, it is true, but never again 
 was he heard of in the County of Chester. Sandy Flash, 
 alias Captain Fitz, was taken to Chester Gaol and 
 after several vain attempts at escape, received sen- 
 tence of death. On the morning of September 26th, 
 1778, he was hanged in the yard of the old Courthouse 
 there. The man paid just price for his crimes, his 
 vicious cruelty and the wanton damage done his neigh- 
 bors. The reward of one thousand dollars, offered by 
 the authorities, was divided between the MacAfees and 
 Rachel Walker evenly, Dave and Bob maintaining that 
 they themselves had not been the actual captors. All this, 
 however, lay far ahead, as Captain Robert and the boys 
 stood guard, that night, snug in the kitchen by Castle 
 Rock. The snow swept in staggering buffets about the 
 walls, tearing at the windows, pelting them with the cruel
 
 280 SANDY FLASH 
 
 fury of driven ice. The wind whipped down from the 
 Willistown Hills, loud with the crash of falling trees and 
 splintering branches. Bob listened a moment to the tur- 
 moil without, then got up and moved from the fireplace. 
 
 "I say, Dave, I forgot to tell you! Nearly! After I 
 left Evanes' I came down by Dutton's Mill and had a 
 look at the otter pond. I'd put a new set there the other 
 day on the sly, and I wanted to see how it worked. Knew 
 this snow'd tie us up ever so long." He crossed the 
 room. "It seemed like a pretty fair try to me and 
 so" 
 
 "So did salt on their tails, last time, didn't it?" Dave 
 chuckled delightedly. Bob was so serious about the thing 
 that his chum could never resist the chance to tease. 
 Really he admired him vastly for his keeping at it. 
 "What'd you try now, Bob? Better be careful or you 
 might get something you never bargained for. Was 
 it a weasel or " 
 
 "Not this trip, Davey, boy, nor a muskrat either. 
 Look!" The big lad smiled good-humoredly at Dave's 
 patronizing air, then stooped beneath the kitchen settle 
 where the shadows lay dark upon the floor. Straightening 
 suddenly, he swung round, his prize held high. Dave 
 leaped to his feet with a shout of joy, even his wounded 
 thumb forgotten in sheer astonishment and delight. Bob 
 smiled again and turned toward the hearth. 
 
 "This is what really fetched us here, you know, Davey. 
 The two of us, to-night. This started it!" He grinned 
 and held out the great sleek pelt, a thing of beauty, 
 lovely, tremendous in size, amazingly soft in the firelight.
 
 THE LOG SET 281 
 
 "This is what ended Sandy Flash!" He nodded toward 
 the prisoner. "I say! Won't father be glad!" 
 
 Dave touched the fur, then without a word reached 
 for his comrade's hand. He gripped it hard, a game 
 loser, quick to yield to the other's luck. Bob Allyn had 
 trapped the Ridley otter. The log set had won the king 
 of the pool ! 
 
 THE END
 
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