CHAPTER XI THE LAIR OF THE ENEMY

Jerry Utway lay in his bunk, fully dressed, for about an hour after Taps had summoned the campers to slumber. The storm had settled to a steady drumming torrent that would probably persist far into the next day. The sides of the tents had been lowered and fastened to the floor by their grommets, to afford the fullest protection from the blast. An occasional flash of lightning, accompanied by a crack of booming thunder, lit up the familiar tent at intervals. Jerry shivered slightly as he stretched out in his blankets and listened to the furious tattoo of drops on the tent-fly over his head. He would have liked a less tempestuous night for their expedition, but dawn would put an end to their hopes unless they moved speedily.
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At last he judged it safe to make his getaway, and with infinite patience crawled into his boots and poncho, and shielding his flashlight, crept out into the night. The vicinity of the campus was black as pitch. Jerry felt his way through dripping underbrush, in order to avoid disturbing any sleeper. He found Jake by the flagpole, and without a word the two brothers stumbled down to the boat-dock.

On the unprotected platform of the dock they felt upon their wet faces the full power of the storm. Wicked-sounding waves swirled through the piles on which the dock was built; the little fleet of rowboats rocked and pounded each other at their moorings.

“Don’t put on your light,” cautioned Jake hoarsely. “That prison guard may still be patrolling over across, and if he happened to spot us, the game would be over. We’ll have to take a boat—we couldn’t get a canoe launched in this water to-night.”

“You untie a boat and pull it around in the lee of the dock, while I get the oars.”

In a few moments Jerry returned with the precious oars, and they were shoved into the locks of the boat Jake had selected. Before putting off, it was necessary to bail out the pool of rain-water that splashed in the bottom of the craft, and this Jake did, using his sou’-wester hat as a bail. When the duckboards beneath their feet no longer floated, the brothers cast off, seized the oars, and headed about on their second crossing that night.
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“Head straight across!” ordered Jerry. “I figure that if we keep right into the teeth of the wind, we’ll come out at that pile of logs straight across, where the deer-trail comes down to the lake. Heave!”

Keeping the full sweep of the wind at their straining backs, the twins worked the oars with a heaving, united swing. Spray dashed over the bows and drenched their rubber garments; the rolling boat pitched and dived as they met one white-capped wave after another, head on. The dim structure of the diving-tower and the shore beyond faded swiftly into the gloom; but after fifteen minutes of labor they had no other evidence that their craft had made any progress in the direction they wished to take.

“Don’t quit!” grunted Jake. “Heave!”

Several times the bows were swept around and they took water broadside over the low gunwale before a frantic effort on the part of one or the other could swing them on their course again. It seemed to both laboring boys that hours had passed.
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Bump! The stem of the small vessel crashed against some unseen obstruction, nearly throwing the young mariners headlong on to the floor-boards. Both clung to their oars, and a wave lifted the boat from its precarious position.

“We rammed the top of a sunken log!” called Jerry, who was nearest the bow. “I think it may be part of that big jam we headed for. Any idea where we are?”

“As I remember, the deer-trail is down to the right a few hundred yards. What do you say we skim along offshore and try to find it?”

“Good! Boy, I’m glad that’s over!” Jerry was breathing heavily from his exertions. He pulled on his oar, shoved off from the dark mass of piled logs an arm’s length away, and the boat began skirting the dimly-seen shoreline.
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They had made the crossing in a Stygian darkness, but now the thunder again commenced its ominous cannonade. An opportune bolt of heaven-sent fire gave them a momentary glimpse of the shore on their port side, and told them what they wanted to know. Jake made out the muddy delta where, he remembered from a previous visit, the deer-trail began. Before the gloom closed in again, he pulled about and began stroking madly toward this landing. A thought struck him like a chill hand. Had a pair of terrified eyes spotted their boat from the black shelter of the trees? Did a desperate evil-doer lurk there, armed with Ellick’s sharpest hand-ax, waiting for them to set foot on shore——? Jake shrugged. The rowboat buried its nose squashily in the mud-bank, beneath the dripping trunk of an overhanging tree.

Without a sound the boys moored the painter to a convenient branch, and cautiously removed the oars and placed them beneath the thwarts, along the bottom of the boat.

“We’ll have to bail her again before we go back—if we do go back,” whispered Jerry grimly. “Can you get ashore from where you are?”

“I think so.” Jake stood and clasped the slippery tree trunk with both arms, and swung his body forward. His heavy boots made him a clumsy climber; but in a moment he had scrambled through a fringing litter of brush and twigs to firmer ground. Jerry followed in his track, almost dropping his flashlight as he clambered through the treacherous brush; and the boys found themselves once more together in the darkness of the forest.
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“Stick to the trail—it’s our only guide,” advised Jake. He led the way, recalling as best he could the twisting of the narrow track which they had once followed by daylight on an idle exploring trip earlier in the season. An infrequent lightning-flash was their only help, and it was no wonder that they more than once wandered from the dim trail.

Deep into the murky reaches of the woods, they paused for breath. So far, they had seen or heard nothing save gloom-shrouded trees; the usual storm-noises of the wilderness; and the crackling of branches that marked their advance.

“Now, which way?” asked Jerry guardedly. “I think the trail splits about here. It’s getting late—if anybody in our tents wakes up, we’re sure to be missed. No use waiting here.” His teeth were chattering from the damp of the low ground. “Do you think we’ll have to give up?”

Jake was staring intently ahead. “I thought I caught a little glow of light over there just a second ago! If this rain would only hold up for a while—— There! See it?” He seized his brother’s arm and pointed.

Jerry peered anxiously into the mist. “Where?”

“Not that way! Right ahead! It must be a fire! That’s our man, all right! Guess he thinks he’s fairly safe on a night like this—and he sure needs a fire; it’s chilly enough over here to freeze you stiff! Are you ready?”
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“Sure, Jakie! No use trying to creep up on him, though. We’ll sneak as close as we can, and then both rush him and jump him together! Come on, let’s get it over with. He’s not much bigger than we are, and we’ll take him by surprise!”

“Don’t let him get hold of his ax, though!” Jake quivered with excitement. “Ready?” He crept toward the low tinge of red light that marked the outlaw’s risky campfire.

They advanced unchallenged for some two hundred yards through the dripping trees, in line with their goal. Their straining eyes could barely make out a small heap of glowing branches at the mouth of what seemed to be a rude shelter of sticks and dead limbs, which would cut off the tiny glow from all other directions except the one from which they approached. Not another sign of life came from the secret camp they had risked so much to find.

“Now!” said Jake sharply, and dashed forward. Jerry was right at his side in a few strides. It was like the football days at school, with Quarterback Jake carrying the ball, and his husky brother at his elbow, crashing through the line—“Right through center!” Jerry was amazed to hear that shout in his own voice. In the madness of that charge he had sent forth the old battle-cry.
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Together the Utway twins galloped down upon their foe. From an opening in the shelter beyond the fire appeared a pale, haggard face; a slender body sprang forward to meet this surprise attack; a shrill scream burst from the drawn lips.

“Stand back! You’ll never take me—you——”

Involuntarily the twins slowed up in their tracks. A streak of lightning, like the crack of doom, hit the earth at a terrifyingly short distance away. The scene was illuminated as if by a thousand searchlights. Their enemy, the searing mark of horror branded on his face, cried out once more. His frail body quivered as if from a blow, toppled weakly forward, and lay in a heap almost at their feet—face forward, helpless, deathly still.