The Argosy, April 1912 — page 149: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

WRESTING A PITTSBURGH SECRET, 135 But there seemed not to be much game in the immediate vicinity of the log shanty. They had forced their way through the al- most impenetrable forest at least two miles before Sport gave the signal. Then, with- out warning, he slipped away at full speed, his body close to the ground, his nose point- ed straight to his quarry. The three hunters brought their guns into position. There were three deafening re- ports, and Sim Galt gave vent to a satis- fied “ Got ’em@ll], by ginger!” Each man picked up his own rabbit and placed it in a capacious pocket of his hunt- ing-coat. ‘Then Sport went after some more. In the course of a few hours they bagged three or four rabbits apiece, which is a pretty good average, as rabbit-shooting goes. Suddenly the dog darted away, so full of strained excitement that both the professor and Fred felt sure there must be something better than rabbits to claim his attention. Perhaps Sim Galt thought so, too. At all events, he followed Sport at a swift pace without a word to his companions. In a few moments he and the hound were both out of sight. With the fever of the chase in his blood, Sim Galt seemed to have forgotten every- thing else but keeping as near to his dog as he could. When he had been gone for an hour the professor and Fred decided that they must look out for themselves. “Tt’s a queer proceeding,” remarked Pro- fessor Shaw. ‘ He isn’t shooting anything, either, or we should hear his gun. We'll follow him. And bear in mind that there are other things of value on Lookout Moun- tain besides rabbits,” he aded significantly. “T’m not likely to forget that,” replied Fred. “Don’t you think his going away like this may have some bearing on No. 1?” “Shouldn’t wonder,” was the professor’s sententious response. Both of these young men had had experi- ence in woodcraft, which made it easy for them to pick up Sim’s trail. Broken twigs, footprints in mud, wet moss pressed down here and there, and an occasional felled limb of a tree kicked away from the spot where it had left its imprint in the boggy ground told them where their man had passed. They tramped along valiantly, but they bad not gone very far when they lost the trail at the edge of a rocky ravine. ‘The indications were that Sim Galt had gone down into this hollow, but his pursuers were never able to find that he came out again. There was no reason to suppose that he was trying to shake them off. But he had done it, purposely or otherwise. When they had finished their examination of this hol- low, a proceeding which took considerable tume, the professor shrugged his shoulders and remarked quietly: “Well, he’s gone; and, so far as I am concerned, we are lost.” “Same here,” declared Fred. “I don’t know where we are. Let’s have some lunch.” | They had brought crackers and cheese in their pockets from the shanty, and they found a spring handy. So they sat down and enjoyed their meal, with a smoke after- ward. ‘The sun was sinking over Pittsburgh way when they got up, stretched themselves, and walked in a westerly direction. Fred opined that that course would be more likely than any other to bring them to the shanty. “Look out, professor,” he whispered suddenly as he pulled his companion behind the great trunk of a century-old oak. ‘T see,’ was the soft response. It was the abrupt appearance of Sim Galt that had startled them. He was picking his way among the trees a few hundred yards off. In his hand was one of the gay-col- ored, old - fashioned carpet - bags he had taken to Pittsburgh full and brought back empty. “That bag means he’s going after No. 1, professor.” “TI hope so.” “By Jove! What do you think of that?” Fred pointed excitedly to a small open- ing in the woods from which Sim had just emerged. The professor looked and grinned as he replied: “Why, that’s the log shanty. There’s that slanting oak-tree and the bushes where the dog lay and howled. We have doubled on our tracks and come back without know- ing it. But let’s see what Galt is after.” Even as he spoke, the tall hunter appeared to sink into the earth almost as if he had gone down a stage-trap. “Good Heavens! Has he tumbled into the ravine?” exclaimed Fred. Without replying, the professor stole si- lently forward, taking advantage of each tree in his path to cover his approach. Fred Barrington kept level with him. Like the professor, he moved among the trees with the caution and noiselessness of an Indian on the war-path. comicaoolks