CHAPTER XII
WAS THIS THE END OF MURKY?
When the still struggling Grandall was dragged inside by Murky and hurledthrough the burning bedroom door into the flames beyond, the latter hadone resource left, though it is doubtful if he would have thought of thatbut for one fact. In the brief struggle they had stumbled over anothersuit-case than the one Grandall had heaved to the water's edge.
Murky recalled that when he had at first entered he had seen two bags. Onewas the bag containing the money. Another, a trifle smaller, was theone brought by Grandall containing articles for his personal use whilein the woods. In the fight Grandall had grabbed the smaller, whetherby mistake or not will never be known. But in such a death-and-lifestruggle as went on, with Murky indisputably the best man, such a mistakewas likely, more than likely, to have been made by the despairing,frightened thief then being overpowered by a more ferocious, desperaterogue.
In less than a second Murky knew that there lay the treasure for whichhe had run such a terrible risk, and also that his only competitor wasgone. Little would the fire leave of Grandall for after-recognition, whenthe ruins were searched. The heat was unbearable; Murky's clothing wasalready ablaze in spots. On the stand was a can of water, left by the nowdead man.
In a twinkling he poured it over himself, seized the suit-case alreadyscorched, and dashed for an open closet door. In this closet was adisplaced trap door. Murky knew that under this was the hallway leadingto the cellar stairs. In the cellar might be present safety--if hecould make it. The clubhouse had caught from the roof. Probably the cellarwas not yet reached. All this in less than no time, as he darted to thecloset, kicked aside the trap which Grandall had overlooked, and jumpedboldly down to the floor he had glimpsed beneath.
Murky was strong, tough, and such a leap was easily made. Already thelower rear rooms were blazing, and he had barely time to rush through theadvancing flames to reach the stair door. Jerking it open, he stumbledthrough, hurrying down into the obscurity below. It was not so dark asusual, for the wide flare of the burning house above lighted up the cellardimly, also showing to Murky the gleam of a cellar window off to one side,the last side to be encroached upon by the fire.
There were smoke and sparks outside, while sundry sparkles overhead toldhim that the floors might shrivel into flames at any minute. In factcrumbs of blazing embers already were filtering down. In the light thusafforded, he saw some tow-bagging piled on one of the boxes that litteredthe cellar floor. At the same time a jingling thud announced that someof the coin had fallen from the scorched suit-case.
At once he seized the bagging, picked up the chamois-bag of coin andwrapped it round the leather case, including the escaped coin. With arock from the crumbling wall he broke what remained of the window andcrawled through.
Fortunately for him he was on the opposite side from the balcony wherethe amazed group on the raft and skiff were still watching, although they,too, were on the point of quitting.
Which way should he go? The rain was beginning to fall though the woodswere still burning. But, close by, a small lagoon began. It was a part ofthe water that separated the point on which the clubhouse was built,making it an eligible site for the purposes of the Longknives when theyerected the house. It offered Murky a chance and he jumped at it as adrowning man will dash for a straw. The water was shallow, yet deep enoughto keep off much of the heat as he waded along, crouching, half creeping,his treasure now over his shoulder as he hurried to where the lagoonwidened towards the open lake.
Here he waited while the rain poured down drenchingly, gradually puttingout the fires that here had not the fierceness that had driven them infrom the westward. As soon as it was possible he stepped ashore, walkingas he thought towards the east and south. He was still trying to makesure of his course and the rain was still coming down when he heard therattling of wagon wheels off to his right.
"Blame _me_!" he ejaculated. "What the--the--what can that be?"
Twilight was near, the air dim with falling rain, when a rough wagon,drawn by two horses driven by one man whom he thought he knew, came insight. Before Murky could get out of view behind the sooty, smoking logs,he himself was seen. Link Fraley had been urging his horses faster.Before he could slow down the scowling face he had seen was gone, as Linkhimself had told the others.
He felt sure that he knew that face, but being unacquainted with theevents at the clubhouse, already described, he was in too great haste toreach the lake to stop and further investigate. So Link passed on whileMurky, now sure that he was headed wrongly, turned away.
In order to make greater haste he took the money, bills and all, from thedilapidated bag, thrust it all inside the tow sack, and turning at lastto the course he had mistakenly thought he was following, he disappearedwithin those slimy, sooty depths of the fire-ruined forest.
He plodded on, wondering at times if he was going right. Later in thenight it became cloudy and there were symptoms of more rain. Strange tosay, he did not reach any farms or houses or other signs of the railroadwhich he felt sure must run in this direction. That is, if he had kept thecourse previously laid out by himself.
As may be imagined, the going was not easy. The earth, at times strangelyswampy, grew more and more difficult to pursue. He wiped the sweat fromhis head and neck more than once.
"Blame me!" he ejaculated. "Why don't I git somewhere? Looks like I'vetravelled long enough and fur enough!"
When it began to rain again he was compelled to take off his one remainingcoat to wrap round the tow sack of money to keep it, at least, partiallydry.
"The bulk of this money is paper," he reflected. "Paper won't stand toomuch wetting; not even gov'ment paper such as money is made of. Blame me!Wish I had a rubber blanket!"
Crossing a log over a slough just before daylight, feeling his wayslowly, yet not daring to stop until he reached some sign of railroador clearing, or at least a house or barn, his foot slipped on a logand down he went into a black pool of mud-encrusted water.
"Ugh--ow-w-w-wh!"
Would his feet _never_ strike bottom? Yes--at last. But the water was upto his shoulders: the bag, coat and all was partly in the slime thatwrapped him coldly, icily about. Though the night was summery, the chillof that involuntary bath was unpleasant. More than unpleasant; it wasexhausting, even terrifying. He tried to wade out, but the mire deepened.He turned and tried to find the log again, but in the darkness all senseof direction seemed to have left him.
At last, when even Murky's resolution was about to give way to despair,his outstretched hand touched a limb. Convulsively he grasped it, botharms going out in eager hope to grasp something tangible amid that inky,nauseous blackness. As he did so a cry broke from him, for he felt thebag slipping from his shoulder. He clutched it desperately.
"Oh! Ugh-h! My Gawd!" The cry broke into stranglings as his head wentunder. A furious struggle then began, for Murky was not one to give up hishold on life, or plunder, or anything valuable to him, without fighting.
Somehow he grasped at the unseen limb. It broke just as his weight beganto hang thereon. More splashings, strugglings. He found another limb, alldead, sooty, yet wet from the now pouring rain.
This one seemed to hold. Inch by inch Murky drew one leg, then the otherfrom the sucking mud below, but as fast as one leg was released theother stuck fast again. It was like working in a treadmill, only farmore perilous, fatiguing, and terrible. Would he ever get out--rescuehimself?
After all, love of life was more powerful than money or aught else.