CHAPTER V RED WINS TO LOSE
Drew Lane, Tom Howe's team mate, had not seen the Galloping Ghost. Intruth it was some distance from the sleeping car to the river bank. Afterpicking his way across the tracks, flashing his light this way and thatin search of clues--some article dropped in hasty flight, a broken match,a cigaret thrown away--he came at last to a narrow stretch ofrock-strewn, cinder-embedded ground.
Here his mood changed. Snapping off his light, he thrust one hand deep inhis coat pocket and sauntered forward like some college youth taking theair.
This was Drew Lane's favorite pose. With his faultless derby, hisspotless suit of sea-green and his natty tie, he carried it off well.Many a tough egg had called him a "fresh college kid," only to findhimself the next moment lying on the sidewalk feeling of a lump on hisjaw caused only by Drew's capable fist.
That fist at this moment was curled around a nasty looking thing of bluesteel. At a second's notice Drew could set that blue steel pal of hisspouting fire, right through his pocket. And his aim, while indulging inthis type of shooting, was the despair of all evil doers.
Drew was approaching what appeared to be a dangerous spot. In the halfdarkness before him a great steam shovel mounted on a dredge stood withcrane outstretched like some fabled bird ready to bend down and pluck hislifeless body from the river. Plenty there were, too, who would havewitnessed the act with a grunt of satisfaction.
As he approached the dredge a small craft, moored ahead of the dredge andsmelling strongly of fish, gave forth a hollow bump-bump.
Fearlessly the young detective hopped aboard this fishing schooner. For amoment his light flashed here and there.
"No one," he muttered.
Hopping ashore, he made his way to the scow supporting the dredge. Havingreached it, he dropped on hands and knees, to creep its entire length.From time to time, with the aid of his flashlight, he examined severalposts and the outer surface of the scow. When at last he stood once moreupon his feet it was with a grunt of satisfaction.
"Went south," he muttered. "Speed boat, all right. Wonder how far? Go upthe river in the morning. Find out--"
His thoughts were broken short off by the bark of an automatic. One shot,that was all; then silence.
With the spring of a panther Drew was off the barge, across the narrowopen space and lost in the labyrinth of sleeping cars.
In an astonishingly short time he was close to the scene of themysterious kidnaping.
"Tom! Tom Howe!" he called softly. "Are you there?"
There came no answer. Only from the river came the hollow bump-bump ofthe fishing schooner. "Tom! Tom Howe!" he called. Still no answer.
Then, without warning, the car before him began to move. For lack of abetter thing to do, he hopped aboard and went rattling away into thecity's great depot.
* * * * * * * *
It was during this same night, at a somewhat later hour, that Red Rodgersand the mysterious girl stood in the obscurity of the cabin doorway.Breathing hard and peering out into the night, they were poised as if forflight.
The slight hold of the lock had been broken. They were free to go. Butwhich way? They were on an island. How long was this island? How largewas the island? What was its nature? Was it all tangled forest? Werethere trails, clearings, deserted cabins? To these questions Red couldform no answers.
"We'd better have a try for their boat," he whispered.
In answer the girl pressed his arm.
Then together they stole out in the night. The shadow of a giant sprucetree swallowed them up.
After that, to an impersonal observer there might have appeared a glidingbit of darkness from time to time, followed by two black figures leapingat one another by the foot of the small dock.
The action of the figures increased in its intensity, yet there was nosound. They writhed and twisted. One went down upon a knee, but was upagain on the instant. They went over in a heap to roll upon the ground.They tumbled about until they reached the dock and all but tumbled intothe icy water.
Then, as suddenly as it began, the struggle ceased.
For ten brief seconds one figure sat upon his opponent. Then he beckoned.A third figure appeared. Groping about the dock, this figure at lastseized upon some object that cast little shadow. This it handed to thecrouching figure.
Some seconds of suspense, and at last two figures, one tall, one short,stood side by side looking at the water and the dock.
As they stood there, some trick of the moonlight and shadows made theirtwo forms appear to melt into one; and that form presented a spectacle ofabject despair. Thirty seconds this pose was held. Then the shadowappeared to explode and two figures melted into the shadows to the right.
What had happened? Red Rodgers had fought a battle and won, only to findthat he had in reality lost. While groping his way toward the dock he hadbeen detected and pounced upon by the kidnapers' guard.
From earliest childhood Red had been prepared. A boy, reared among thetough fists of a steel town school, must be. When, in his teens, he hadwrestled with red hot steel, this instinct for absolute preparedness hadbeen intensified. Football had added to this training. When one considersthat he was as quick as a panther, as strong as a lion and as cool-headedas a prize fighter, one must know that the flabby guard stood littlechance. Instantly Red's arm was about his neck in a clinch that preventedthe least outcry.
The outcome of the battle you already know; but not quite. When the boyhad conquered his opponent, when he had bound and gagged him, he went tolook for the rowboat. Then it was that his lips formed a single word:
"Gone!"
And the girl, who in the moonlight seemed pitifully small, echoed:
"Gone!"
Where was this boat? Had it drifted away? Or had a second kidnaper rowedaway to a second island, lying a stone's throw away, for help?
No answer could be found. One thing remained to be done: to vanish intothe night. This the strange pair lost no time in doing.