Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.) _Adventure Stories for Girls_ The Silent Alarm _By_ ROY J. SNELL The Reilly & Lee Co. Chicago _Printed in the United States of America_ Copyright, 1926 by The Reilly & Lee Co. _All Rights Reserved_ Contents CHAPTER PAGE I The Prisoner in a Lone Cabin 9 II Strange Sentries 18 III A Darting Shadow 41 IV A Strange Escape 58 V Safe at Home 69 VI Confederate Gold 76 VII Mysterious Footsteps 93 VIII The Silent Watcher 112 IX Beyond Forbidden Portals 131 X A Mysterious People 149 XI The Guard of the Stone Gateway 166 XII The Mystery Trail 182 XIII A Tense Situation 196 XIV Hallie Kidnapped 212 XV By the Aid of a Coon 220 XVI A Perilous Glide 234 XVII The Last of Her Clan 244 XVIII The Strange Procession 253 THE SILENT ALARM CHAPTER I THE PRISONER IN A LONE CABIN In a cabin far up the side of Pine Mountain, within ten paces of the murmuring waters of Ages Creek, there stood an old, two roomed log cabin. In one room of that cabin sat a girl. She was a large, strong girl, with the glow of ruddy health on her cheeks. Her dress, though simple, displayed a taste too often missing in the Cumberland Mountains of Kentucky, and one might have guessed that she was from outside the mountains. If one were to observe her, sitting there in a rustic splint bottomed chair; if he were to study her by the flickering firelight, he might have said: âShe is a guest.â In this he would have been wrong. Florence Huyler was virtually a prisoner in that cabin. As she sat there dreamily gazing at the flickering fire, a man did sentry duty outside the door. He seemed asleep as he sat slouched over in a chair tilted against the cabin, but he was not. Nor would the occupant of that chair sleep this night. Yet, had you said to Florence, âWhy do they hold you prisoner here?â she would have replied: âIâm sure I donât know.â That would have been true, too. âWhat can they want?â she asked herself for the thousandth time as she sat there watching the coals of her wood fire blink out one by one. âAre they moonshiners? Do they think I am a secret agent of the revenue men? Do they want this,â she patted a pocket inside her blouse, âor have they been hired by the big coal company to hold me until the secret of the railroad is out?â When she patted her blouse there had come a crinkling sound. Ten new fifty dollar bank notes were pinned to the inside of the garment. âIf thatâs what they want,â she said to herself, âwhy donât they demand it and let me go?â She shuddered as she rose. The room was cold. She dreaded facing a night in that cabin. Having entered the second room, she closed the door softly behind her, then sat down upon the edge of the bed. After removing her shoes, she glanced up at the smoke blackened ceiling. âHole up there,â she mused. âI wonder if.... No, I guess not. Never can tell, though.â At once her lithe body was in motion. With the agility of a cat, she sprang upon a chair, mounted its back, caught the edge of the opening above and drew herself up into the attic, then dropped noiselessly down upon a beam. âWhew! Dusty,â she panted. Five minutes later she found herself staring out into the moonlight. At the upper end of the cabin loft she had found a small door that opened to a view of the mountain side. Having found this she opened it noiselessly. It would be an easy matter to hang by her hands, drop to the ground and then attempt her escape through the brush. This she was about to do when something arrested herâa very small thing. On a narrow level space where the grass had been eaten short by cows or wild creatures, three young rabbits were sporting in the moonlight. âShame to spoil their fun,â she whispered to herself. âTime enough.â She seated herself close to the opening. A moment later she was thankful for the impulse that caused her to wait. In an instant, without a sound, the rabbits disappeared into the brush. With a little gasp the girl closed the small door. Ten seconds later, by peering through a crack, she saw a man cross the small clearing. It was her guard. âThanks, little rabbits,â she whispered. âYou did me a good turn that time.â A moment later the man returned across the patch of short grass and once more the girl set herself to listening and watching. âWhen the little gray fellows come back to play, Iâll risk it,â she told herself. As she sat there waiting, feeling the cool caress of the mountain night air upon her cheek, listening, watching, she allowed her eyes to wander away to the half dozen little peaks that formed the crest of Pine Mountain. âHow dark and mysterious they seem in the night,â she thought to herself. âHowââ Her meditations were suddenly cut short. Her eyes had caught a yellow gleam that had suddenly appeared on the very crest of the highest peak of the mountain. âWhaâwhat can it mean?â she whispered. âIt canât beâbut it is!â Even as she looked, the yellow gleam blinked out for a second, glowed again, only to vanish, then to glow steadily once more. The girlâs heart grew warm, her cheeks flushed. Whereas only the moment before she had felt herself utterly alone in an unknown and hostile world, now she knew that on the crest of yonder mountain there stood a friend, her very best friend, Marion Norton. Between her and that peak lay many a long and tangled trail. What of that? That golden glow spoke warmly of friendship. âThe Silent Alarm,â she murmured as she hastily drew from her pocket two dark cylinders. One of the cylinders she placed before her on the window ledge. The other she grasped at either end, drawing it out to four times its original length. The thing was a pocket telescope such as is often carried in the mountains. From the ends of this she unscrewed the lenses. After that, lying flat upon the dusty floor that was all but level with the sill of the small shuttered door, she glanced along the tube of the dismantled telescope. Slowly, surely, as if the thing were a rifle, she aimed it at the distant yellow gleam. Then, without allowing the tube to move, she picked up the other shorter one which had all this time rested on the window sill. Having placed the end of this against the end of the hollow tube, she pressed a button, and at once a needle point of glowing light shot forth into the night. The second cylinder was a small but powerful flashlight. âThe Silent Alarm,â she whispered once more. She had kept the small flashlight aimed at the distant yellow flash of fire less than a moment when, with a suddenness that was startling, the glow on the distant mountain crest vanished. It was as if someone had thrown a shovel of earth or a bucket of water upon a small camp fire. The little tableau was not at an end. Florence, by moving her hand before her tube, sent out successive flashes, some short, some long. Now a short one, now two long ones, now three short; so it went on for some time. âThe Silent Alarm,â she thought. âI only hope she gets it right. She might try to come to me. That would be too terrible.â This had scarcely passed her mind when, of a sudden, from that same distant hillside there gleamed a star. Or was it a star? If a star, then a tree branch must wave before it, for now it appeared, only to disappear and reappear again. It was no star. At once, with a pencil and a scrap of paper, the girl was marking down dots and dashes, taking the message being sent by signal code from the distant mountain crest. As she scratched down the last dash, the star vanished, not to reappear. Once more darkness brooded over the foothills of Pine Mountain and the somber peaks beyond were lost in the glooms of night. For a time, by the steady gleam of her flashlight, the girl studied her dots and dashes. Then, as she closed her tired eyes for a moment, she murmured: âOh! I had hoped for a real message, a message that would mean success.â As she opened her eyes she glanced down to the spot of golden moonlight on the grass. The rabbits had returned to complete their frolic. âTime to try it,â she whispered as she drew herself up on her knees. CHAPTER II STRANGE SENTRIES âThanks, jolly little friends,â she whispered to the rabbits. âSorry to disturb you, but it really has to be done.â Clutching at her heart in a vain effort to still its wild beating, she slid slowly out of the window. A gripping of the beams, a swinging down, a second of clinging, a sudden drop, a prayer of thanksgiving that her alighting place was grass cushioned and noiseless, and the next instant she was lost from sight in the brush whither the three rabbits had fled. For a full moment she crouched there motionless, scarcely breathing, listening intently. There came no sound. Her guard was dozing in his chair. Her mind was in a whirl. Now that she was free, where should she go? Where could she go? Home, if she could find the way, or to Everett Faucetâs cabin. Everett lived at the back of the mountain. Yes, she might go to either place if only she knew the way. Truth was, she didnât know the way. She had been carried about on horseback by her mysterious captors, covering strange trails, and at night. She was lost. Only one thing she knewâshe was still on the back of Pine Mountain. The way home led up this side of the mountain and down the other. A great wave of fear and despair swept over her. The whole affair, she told herself, was a useless adventure. âIâll go back home to our cabin; give it up,â she declared. She began the upward climb. Beating her way through the brush, she struggled forward. It was heart-breaking work, making her way through brush and timber. Here a dense thicket tore at her, and there a solid wall of rock blocked her progress. âOught to find a trail. Have to,â she panted. With this in mind, she began to circle the slope. She felt the need of haste. Night was wearing away. The early morning would soon reveal her, a lone girl in a strange and apparently hostile country. Panic seized her. She fairly flew through the brush until, with a sudden compact that set her reeling, she came upon a rail fence. Beyond the fence was a narrow trail. To her immense relief she found that this trail wound away up the mountain. That mountain trail was the longest she had ever taken. It wound on and on, up and up until there seemed no end. The cool damp of night hung over everything. The moon, swinging low in the heavens, cast long, deep shadows far down the trail. Now a startled rabbit, springing into the brush, sent the girlâs heart to her mouth. Now the long-drawn bay of a hound at some distant cabin sent a chill running up her spine. Frightened, alone, quite without means of protection, she hurried on. Then suddenly, as she rounded a corner, she caught the sound of voices. âMen,â she said to herself with a shudder. The next instant she was silently pushing herself back into the depths of a clump of mountain ivy that grew beside the trail. The men were coming down the trail. Now their voices sounded more clearly; now she caught the shuffle of their rough shoes, and now heard the heavy breathing of one as if carrying a load. As they came abreast of her, she saw them dimly through the leaves. Then for a second her heart seemed to stop beating. âA dog,â she breathed. âA long-eared hound!â As the hound, with nose to the ground, came upon the spot where she had left the trail, he stopped short, gave a loud snort, then started straight into the bush. âCome on, you!â one of the men grumbled, seizing him by the collar. âItâs only a rabbit.â The dog struggled for a time, but a kick brought him back to his place behind his master and they traveled on down the hill. âSaved!â the girl breathed as she dropped weakly upon the ground. âAnd yet,â she thought as strength and courage came back to her, âwhy should I fear everyone here behind Pine Mountain?â Why indeed? The experiences of the past hours had made fear a part of her nature. Once more upon the trail, she hurried on more rapidly than before. Dawn was on its way. The jagged peaks of the mountain ahead showed faintly gray against the dark sky. âHave to hurry,â she told herself. âHave toââ Her thoughts broke short off and once more she sprang from the trail. Other men were coming. The night seemed filled with them. This time, finding herself in a narrow grass grown trail that led away at an angle from the hard beaten main trail, she hurriedly tiptoed along it. âNot another narrow escape like the last one,â she thought. She had followed this apparently deserted trail for a hundred yards when suddenly she came upon a cabin. Her first thought was to turn and flee. A second look told her that the place was abandoned. Two panes of glass in the single window were broken and before the door, displaying their last fiery red blossoms, two hollyhocks did sentry duty. The door stood ajar. For a moment she hesitated before the red sentries. âOh, pshaw!â she whispered at last. âYou dear old-fashioned guardians of a once happy home, I can pass you without cracking a stem or bruising a blossom.â Putting out her hands, she parted the tall flowers with gentlest care, then stepped between them. For this simple ceremony, inspired by her love of beauty, she was destined in not so many hours to feel supremely grateful. Inside she found a lonesome scene. The moon, shining through the single window, struck across a rude table. A dark cavern at the end spoke of a fireplace which once had offered ruddy comfort. A ladder leading to the loft stood against the wall. Without thinking much about it, she climbed that ladder. Somewhat to her surprise, she found the attic half filled with clean, dry, rustling corn husks. âSomeone stowed his corn here. Husked the corn and left the husks.â âHowâhow comfortable,â she sighed as her weary body relaxed upon this springy bed. âIâll rest here for a moment,â she thought, ârest here for aâfor aârestââ The next moment she was fast asleep. Hours later she awoke with a start. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Then, catching the rustle of corn husks, she remembered where she was. âMust have fallen asleep,â she said, a feeling of consternation coming over her. âAnd now it isââ She gazed about her questioningly. âNow it is daylight,â she finished as she noted a bright bar of sunlight that fell across the floor. âHere I stay until dark.â Here she remained. Once she left the cabin for a moment to slake her thirst at a spring that bubbled out of the rocks just back of the house. Both in coming and going she reverently parted the hollyhocks before the door. âProbably some childish hands spilled the seed that started them growing there,â she told herself. âI wonder where that child may be now?â The attic was silent, too silent. In one dark corner a fly, caught in a spiderâs web, slowly buzzed his life away. There was time now for thinking. And she did think, thought this whole adventure through from its very beginning. It is strange, the unusual opportunities for adventure and romance that come to one in out-of-the-way places. Florence, with her chum, Marion, had been invited by Mrs. McAlpin, Florenceâs aunt, to spend the summer in the mountains. They had come, expecting fishing, swimming and mountain climbing. They had found time for these, too; but above all, their summer had been filled with service, service for those whose opportunities had been far fewer than their own. The one great service they had been able to render had been that of conducting a summer school for the barefooted, eager little children who swarmed the sides of Big Black Mountain. It had been a real pleasure to teach them. Strange to say, though there was a public school at the mouth of Laurel Branch, little was ever taught in it. The teacher, who knew nothing of grammar, geography or history, and little enough of âReadinâ, âRitinâ and âRithmatic,â took the school for no purpose save that he might draw the public money. The school, which was supposed to last six months, he brought to an end as speedily as possible. If no children came he could go back to his farm work of putting away his corn crop or rolling logs to clear land for next yearâs harvest, and he could do this and still draw his pay as a teacher. The schoolhouse, a great log shack with holes for doors and windows, was without either doors or windows to keep out the weather. Before the cold autumn rains the little group of children who came to drone out words after their disinterested teacher vanished like blackbirds before the first snow, leaving the teacher free for other things. Now all was to be changedâat least the girls hoped so. They had been teaching the summer school for six weeks when Ransom Turner, a sincere and ambitious man who had the good of the community at heart, had come to them proposing that they remain through autumn and early winter and teach the public school. Here was an opportunity to make a real contribution, to set a model for all time, to give these simple mountain folks an idea of what school should be. âOf course,â Ransom Turner had said, âweâll have to elect you a trustee.â âA trustee!â they had exclaimed in unison, failing to understand his meaning. âOf course. You donât think that worthless scamp thatâs been drawinâ the pay and not teachinâ any could get the job unless heâd elected a trustee, do you? But leave that to us mounting folks. You jest say youâll take the school anâ weâll elect you a trustee.â âBut the schoolhouse!â Florence had remonstrated. âItâs bad enough nowâflies, and all thatâbut in cold weather it would be impossible.â Ransomâs face had clouded. âCanât be helped none, I reckon. They hainât no funds fer hit. Doors and windows cost a heap, havinâ to be brought in as they do. Us mounting folks are most terrible poor, most terrible.â The two girls had considered the proposition seriously. They were not yet through the University. It seemed a little hard to give up the first half of their school year. They caught visions of great buildings, swarming students, laughing faces, books, libraries, all the good things that go to make University life a joyous affair. Yet here was an opportunity for an unusual service. Could they afford to refuse? They had talked it over. In the end Florence had said to Ransom: âIf you can manage the trustee and we can get some money to fix up the schoolhouse, we will stay.â To this Marion had given hearty assent and Ransom Turner had gone away happy. Money for the new school! It had been their desire for just this that had put Florence in her present strange and mysterious predicament. It had been a very unusual proposition that Mr. John Dobson of the Deep Rock Mining Company had made to them, a proposition that held great possibilities. They had gone to him to ask him to help them with money for the school. He had told them that his company had no fund for contributions such as they asked. He had not, however, turned them away entirely without hope. âThe company, of which I am President,â he had said, âis a comparatively small one. The stock is not owned by any one rich man, or by a group of rich men. It is owned by a number of men who own a little property and who hope to improve their position by wise investment. These men look to me to bring about the success they hope for. Unfortunately, at the present time we are short of coal lands. The railroad up this way has been built for several years. The coal land that lies along it has been bought up by rich companies, principally the Inland Coal and Coke Company, which is so large that it has come to be looked upon as virtually a monopoly in these parts. âThere is but one field left to us.â His eyes glanced away to the crest of Pine Mountain. âAt the back of that mountain there is coal, plenty of it. Land is cheap. At present there is no railroad, but there is a persistent rumor that the M. and N. proposes to build a spur up that creek. They will build it. But when?â He had risen to pace the floor of his small office. âWhen? Thatâs the question.â âThe directors of the railroad,â he had gone on after a long pause, âare to hold a meeting next week. They may decide upon the spur at that time. If it is to be built within the next year, there is a tract of land back here that we wantâwant badly. It is owned by a man named Caleb Powers. The price is twenty-one thousand. Needless to say, our rich rival will want it. They may be able to secure advance information regarding the coming decision of the Directors of the M. and N. In that case we are defeated. If they do not, we have a chance. The first person to get to Caleb Powers after the spur has been decided upon, will get the land.â Here he had paused and looked Florence squarely in the eye. âThatâs where you come in,â he had said steadily. âThat is, if you wish to. I am to be away in another section of the mountains next weekâcanât be here. You want money for your school?â He had stared hard at the girl. âY-es, we do.â âWell then, hereâs your chance. One of you go back behind Pine Mountain and there keep in close touch with Caleb Powers. The other must remain here until news of the decision regarding the proposed spur comes. I will arrange for a messenger at the railâs end. As soon as the messenger arrives you must make all haste to reach Caleb Powers. I will give you the earnest moneyâfive hundred dollars. If the spur is to be built and you succeed in purchasing the land, I will pay you a commission of ten percent.â âThink of it!â Florence had exclaimed. âTwenty-one hundred dollars! All that for the school!â Visions of a warm, cozy school room, brightened by many happy, glowing faces, passed before her mindâs eye. âOf course weâll try it,â she had said with quiet resolution. âOf course,â Marion had echoed. âAnd now it has come to this,â Florence said to herself as she stirred upon the rustling corn husks of her bed in the deserted cabin which formed her temporary hiding place. Once more her mind went back to the broken sequence of events. It had been agreed that she should cross over the mountains and stay with a friend of Mrs. McAlpin who lived at the back of Pine Mountain. âAnd I will keep you posted by means of the Silent Alarm!â Marion had exclaimed. Until now the Silent Alarm had been little more than a plaything. Now it was to be of some real use. Florenceâs older brother, who had been in the great war, had told her how, by the use of signal lamps, flashlights and the Continental code he and his comrades had been able to signal to one another even across a point of the enemyâs trenches. He had explained the matter to her in detail, had also taught her the code. Often at night, from some distant hillside, with a flashlight and the barrel of a dismantled shotgun, Florence had signalled to Marion at the cabin. And Marion, with some similar simple apparatus, had signalled back. The simple-minded, superstitious mountain folks, having seen these strange stars blinking away against the mountain, had whispered weird tales of witch light and of seeing old women riding a cloud at night. All this had greatly amused the girls and they kept their secret well. âNow,â Marion had said to Florence when she started on her mission, âwhen you get to your destination back there, Iâll climb this side of the mountain to the crest and weâll get in touch with one another by signal fires. After that, when the big news comes, Iâll climb the mountain again. If it comes in the daytime I will use a heliograph; if by night, some form of tube and a flashlight.â As you have already seen, by the aid of Marionâs beacon fire on the mountainâs crest, they had established communications. But under what unexpected conditions this was done! Florence had been the prisoner of strange men whose motives in holding her were unknown. This she had flashed back to Marion. She had added a warning not to try to come to her. Bearing this startling news, Marion had retraced her steps to Mrs. McAlpinâs cabin. âAnd here I am a fugitive,â Florence sighed as she sat up among the corn husks. âA fugitive from whom? And why? The message will come and I will not be able to deliver it. The coal tract will be lost to the Inland Coal and Coke Company and our hopes for a schoolhouse will be blighted. âBut no!â she clinched her fist. âIt must not be! There is yet a way!â The message did come, a message of great good news. It came on the wings of the wind, came to Mrs. McAlpin and Marion, late that very afternoon. In the meantime, on the mountain-side near the cabin in which Florence was hiding, strange things were happening. Florence was wondering about the identity of the rough mountain men who had made her prisoner. Were they feudists? Or moonshiners suspecting her of being a spy? Or real spies themselves, employed by the great mining corporation to trap her? Or were they just plain robbers? Such were the thoughts running through her mind when she caught the sound of a cheery note outside the cabin. It was the _chee-chee-chee, to-wheet, to-wheet, to-wheet_ of a mountain wren. The song brightened her spirits and allayed her fears. âAs long as he keeps up his joyous notes I need have no fear,â she told herself. âThe appearance of someone near would frighten him into silence. âDear little friend,â she whispered, âhow wonderful you are! When human friends were here you came each year to make your nest in some niche in their cabin. Now they are gone. Who knows where? But you, faithful to their dream of happiness, return to sing your merry song among the ruins.â Even as she whispered this, her ear caught a far different note, a dread soundâthe long-drawn note of a hound. As this grew louder and louder her heart beat rapidly with fear. âOn my trail,â she thought with dread. As the sound began to grow fainter she felt sure that the hunters, if hunters they were, had passed on up over the main trail. Hardly had the hope been born when it was suddenly dashed aside. The solid thump-thump of footsteps sounded outside the cabin, then ended. For a moment there was silence, such a silence as she had not experienced in all her days. Flies had ceased to buzz. The little brown wren had flown away. Then a harsh voice crashed into that silence. âReckon she are up thar, Lige?â ââTâainât no ways possible,â drawled the second man. âLook at them thar hollyhocks. Narry a leaf broke. Reckon airy oneâd pass through that door without a tramplinâ âem down?â âReckon not.â âBetter be stirrinâ then, I reckon.â âReckon so.â Again came the solid drum of feet. This grew fainter and fainter until it died away in the distance. âGood old hollyhocks! Good little old sentries, how I could hug you for that!â A tear splashed down upon the girlâs hand, a tear for which none should be ashamed. Even as the footsteps of the men died away in the distance, Florence felt the shadow of the mountain creeping over the cabin. âSoon be dark,â she breathed, âand thenââ She was some time in deciding just what should be done. Her first impulse was to take the up-trail as soon as darkness had fallen and to make her way back to her friends. âBut that,â she told herself, âmeans the end of our hopes.â At once there passed before her closed eyes pictures of brave, laughing little children of the mountain; ragged, barefooted, pleading children, walking miles over the frosts of November to attend their school, the first real school they would have known. âNo!â She set her teeth hard. âThere is still a way. I will wait here for Marionâs signal. It will come. If she has news, good news, somehow I will find my way to Caleb Powers. Somehow the race must be won!â CHAPTER III A DARTING SHADOW That same evening, just at dusk, Marion came upon a fresh and startling mystery. She had climbed the hill at the back of the ancient whipsawed cabin which was occupied by Mrs. McAlpin and her friends. Beside the bubbling brook that sang so softly, she had found she could think calmly. There was reason enough for calm thinking, too. They had entered into this business of buying the Powell coal tract, expecting only mild adventure and possibly a large profit. Mysterious things were happening to Florence. She was sure of that. By the aid of the Silent Alarm she had received a message from her. The message had warned her to retreat, to return to the whipsawed cabin and wait. She had obeyed. It was indeed very singular. âWhat can have happened?â Marion now asked herself for the hundredth time. âWherever she may be, she can hardly be out of reach of the Silent Alarm. Darkness will find me again on the trail that leads to the crest of Pine Mountain. âShe must succeed! Must! Must!â she told herself. âAnd I must let her know. I surely must!â That very afternoon she had received information of tremendous importance. In the whipsawed cabin was a small radio receiving set. The long twilight of the mountains often slipped away with a score of mountain people sitting on the hillside listening to the sweet strains of music that came from this radio and floated through the open windows. At times, even in the afternoon, they tuned in on Louisville that they might catch some news of the outside world. On this particular afternoon, wearied from her long hike of the previous night, Marion had been lolling half asleep on the couch when of a sudden she sat upright, wide awake. Her ear had caught the words, âM. and N. Railroad.â Here might be important news. It was important, for the announcer, after a brief pause in which he had perhaps referred to his notes, had gone on: âAt a meeting to-day of the Board of Directors of the M. and N. Railroad, it was decided that a spur would be built along the south slope of Pine Mountain. This work, which is to be rushed to completion within a year, will tap vast tracks of valuable coal land.â Marion had risen trembling from the couch. She had wanted to cry, to laugh, to shout. Here was great news indeed. Coming right in from the air, it had beyond doubt given them many hours of advantage over their rival, the agent of the Inland Coal and Coke Company. But she had not shouted, nor had she cried nor laughed. She had climbed the hillside and had stretched out on the leafy slope by the murmuring brook to think. She had decided to wait for darkness. Then she would hurry away over the four miles that led to the crest of the low mountain. Once there she would kindle a beacon fire. Down deep in her heart she prayed that Florence might catch the gleam of that fire as she had the one of the night before, and that having caught her joyous message, she might be free to act. âIf only it would hurry and get dark!â she whispered to herself. âIf only it would. Then I could slip up there and send the message.â But what was this? Of a sudden this all important problem was driven from her mind. From out the clump of mountain ivy that skirted the hill above the whipsawed cabin there had darted a shadow. Who could it be? No mysterious persons were known to be about, but she could not be sure. Men hid out in these hillsârough, dangerous men who were wanted by the law. The cheery lamplight that suddenly burst forth through the small square window of the whipsawed cabin below reassured her. There were friends in that house, her friends Mrs. McAlpin and little Hallie. Even as she settled back again to think of their great problems, she was given another start. Outside the window, into the square of light that poured forth from it, there had crept the face of a man. It was not a charming face to behold, but rather an alarming one. Beneath bushy eyebrows gleamed a pair of beady black eyes. The nose was hawk-like and the cheeks and chin were covered by a stubby beard. It was a face to make one shudder, and Marion did shudder. She drew back as if to bury herself in the giant chestnut at her back. Even as she did so she saw the man start, saw an unuttered exclamation spring to his lips. What had he seen? What had he hoped to see? There was mystery enough about that whipsawed cabin. Once there had been gold in itâmuch gold. Preacher Gibson had hinted that it might still be there. It had been brought there many years before, just after the Civil War. Jeff Middleton, who with the help of a neighbor had built the cabin, had died suddenly in a feud. The gold had vanished. No one, so far as was known, had ever found it. Who was this man at the window? Did he at last have a clue to the whereabouts of the gold, and had he come to search for it, only to find the cabin occupied? Little Hallie, too, was quite as mysterious as the whipsawed cabin in which she lived. She had been brought to the cabin door on a stormy nightâa beautiful eight year old child, unconscious from an ugly blow on her head. While she was being cared for, the man who brought her had vanished. He had not returned. That was three weeks ago. Efforts to discover the identity of the childâother than the name âHallie,â which had come from her own lipsâhad been unavailing. Her memory appeared to have gone with the blow on her head. Fortunately, Mrs. McAlpin had studied medicine in her younger days. Under her efficient care Hallie had become the cheery joy of the whipsawed house. Did this mysterious man know something about little Hallie? Or was he just some wanderer looking for food and shelter? This last seemed the most probable. Yet, as Marion came to this conclusion, she suddenly learned that this man knew something about one member of the household, for even as she sat there he passed close enough to touch her, mumbling as he passed: âHitâs her. Hit shorely are!â The girlâs heart went into double-quick time as the man came near to her. It slowed down very little as he vanished into the night. Questions were pounding away at her brain. Who was this man? What did he want? To whom had he referred? To Mrs. McAlpin? To Hallie? âMust have been Hallie,â she told herself. âAnd now perhaps he will steal upon us unawares and carry her away.â Even as she thought this she felt that it was a foolish fear. Why should he? Then of a sudden, as a new thought struck her, she sprang to her feet. A cry was on her lips, but it died unuttered. It had suddenly occurred to her that if this man knew something about this mysterious little girl he should be called back and questioned. She did not call him back. She was afraid, very much afraid of that man. âAnyway,â she reassured herself, âhe probably didnât mean Hallie at all. Probably meant Mrs. McAlpin. Sheâs been here three summers, and has been up every creek for miles around.â With this as a concluding thought, and having caught the delicious odor of spring chicken roasting on the hearth, she hurried down to supper. As she entered the cabin, Mrs. McAlpin, who was a famous cook, lifted the lid of the small cast-iron oven that had been buried beneath the hearth coals for an hour. At once the room was filled with such delectable fragrance as only can come from such an oven. Since the cabin had been purchased by its present owner, it had not been disfigured by a stove. An immense stone fireplace graced the corner of each of the four rooms. The cooking was done on the hearth of the room used as kitchen and dining room. âIsnât it wonderful!â Marion exclaimed as she hung her sweater on the deerâs antlers which served as a coat rack. âJust to live like this! To be primitive as our ancestors were! I shall never forget it, not as long as I live!â Supper was over. Darkness had fallen âfrom the wings of nightâ when Marion slipped alone out of the whipsawed cabin. As she entered the shadows that lay across the path that led away from the cabin, she caught sound of a movement off to the right. Her heart skipped a beat, but she did not pause. The message she had to send could not be longer delayed. And yet, as she hurried on, she could not help wondering who might have been behind the bushes. Was it the prowler, he of the beady black eyes and hooked nose, who had peered in at the cabin window? If it were, what did he want? What did he mean by that strange exclamation: âHitâs her?â Had he seen Hallie? Did he know her? Would he attempt to carry her away? She hoped not. The little girl had become a spot of sunshine in that brown old cabin. Two hours later the proceedings of the previous night were being re-enacted. Marionâs beacon fire appeared on the mountainâs crest. Florence caught it at once and flashed back her answer. There followed a half hour of signaling. At the end of this half hour Florence found herself sitting breathless among the husks in the cabin loft. âOh!â she breathed. âWhat news! The railroad is to be built. I wonder if the land is still for sale?â âAnd I,â she exclaimed, squaring her shoulders, âI must be afraid no longer. Somehow I must find my way down this slope to Caleb Powellâs home. I must buy that land.â She patted the crinkly bills, five hundred dollars, still pinned to the inside of her blouse. Then, slipping quickly down the ladder, she stepped into the cool, damp air of night. Yet, even as she turned to go down the mountain, courage failed her. Above her, not so far away but that she could reach it in an hour, hung the mountainâs crest. Dim, dark, looming in the misty moonlight, it seemed somehow to beckon. Beyond it, down the trail, lay home, her mountain home, and loving friends. She had experienced thus far only distrust, captivity without apparent cause, the great fear of worse things to come. âNo,â she said, âI canât go back.â Her feet moved slowly up the trail. âAnd yet I must!â She faced the other way. âI canât go back and say to them, âI have no money for the school. I went on a mission and failed because I was afraid.â No, No! I canât do that.â Then, lest this last resolve should fail her, she fairly ran down the trail. She had hurried on for fully fifteen minutes when again she paused, paused this time to consider. What plan had she? What was she to do? She did not know the way to the home of her friend, nor to the home of Caleb Powell. Indeed, she did not so much as know where she was. How, then, was she to find Caleb Powell? âOnly one way,â she told herself. âI must risk it. At some cabin I must inquire my way.â Fifteen minutes later she found herself near a cabin. A dim light shone in the window. For a moment she hesitated beside the footpath that led to its door. âNo,â she said at last, starting on, âI wonât try that one.â She passed three others before her courage rose to the sticking point. At last, realizing that the evening was well spent and that all would soon be in bed, she forced herself to walk boldly toward a cabin. A great bellowing hound rushed out at her and sent her heart to her mouth. The welcome sound of a manâs voice silenced him. âWhoâs thar?â the voice rang out. âItâsâitâs I, Florence Huyler.â The girlâs voice trembled in spite of her effort to control it. âLetâs see.â The man held a candle to her face. âStep inside, Miss.â âItâIâI canât stop,â she stammered, âIâI only wanted to ask where Caleb Powell lives.â âHey, Bill,â the man turned to someone within the cabin. âHereâs that girl we was lookinâ for this eveninâ.â âNaw âtâainât. Donât stand to reason.â The manâs feet came to the floor with a crash. The girlâs heart sank. She recognized the voices of the men. They were the men who had visited the deserted cabin. The hollyhock sentinel had done their bit, but all to no purpose. She was once more virtually a prisoner. âGuess you come to the wrong cabin, Miss. We are plumb sorry, but hit are our bond anâ duty to sort of ask you to come in and rest with we-all a spell. Reckon you ainât et none. Hey, Mandy! Set on a cold snack for this here young lady.â Florence walked slowly into the cabin and sank wearily into a chair. Her head, which seemed suddenly to grow heavy, sank down upon her breast. She had meant so well, and this was what fate had dealt her. Suddenly, as she sat there filled with gloomy thoughts, came one gloomier than the restâa thought as melancholy as a late autumn storm. âWhy did we not think of that?â she almost groaned aloud. She recalled it well enough now. Mrs. McAlpin had once told her of the queer mixing of titles to land which existed all over the mountains. In the early days, when land was all but worthless, a man might trade a thousand acres of land for a yoke of oxen and no deed given or recorded. âWhy,â Mrs. McAlpin had said, âwhen I purchased the little tract on which this cabin stands I was obliged to wait an entire year before my lawyer was able to assure me of a deed that would hold.â âA year!â Florence repeated to herself. âA year for a small tract! And here we are hoping to purchase a tract containing thousands of acres which was once composed of numerous small tracts. And we hope to get a deed day after to-morrow, and our commission a day later.â She laughed in spite of herself. âIf we succeed in making the purchase, which doesnât seem at all likely, Mr. Dobson may be two years getting a clear title to the land. Will he pay our commission before that? No one would expect it. And if we donât get it before that time what good will it do our school?â âNo,â she told herself, facing the problem squarely, âthere must be some other way; though Iâll still go through with this if opportunity offers.â In her mental search for âsome other wayâ her thoughts returned to the ancient whipsawed house on Laurel Branch. She had heard old preacher Gibsonâs story of Jeff Middletonâs return from the Civil War with a great sack of strange gold pieces. âHitâs hid somâers about that ar whipsawed cabin,â the tottering old mountain preacher had declared, âthough whar it might be I donât rightly know. Been a huntinâ of it right smart oâ times and ainât never lit onto narry one of them coins yet.â âIf only we could find that gold,â Florence told herself, âall would be well. That is, if we win the electionâif we elect our trustee.â She smiled a little at this last thought; yet it was no joking matter, this electing a trustee back here in the Cumberlands. Many a grave on the sun kissed hillsides, where the dogwood blooms in springtime and ripe chestnuts come rattling down in the autumn, marks the spot where some lusty mountaineer lies buried. And it might be written on his tombstone, âHe tried to elect a trustee and failed because the other manâs pistol gun found its mark.â Elections are hard fought in the Cumberlands. Many a bitter feud fight has been started over a school election. Surely, as she sat there once more a prisoner, held by these mysterious mountaineers, there was enough to disturb her. CHAPTER IV A STRANGE ESCAPE Morning came at last. Florence stirred beneath the home woven covers of her bed in the mountain cabin. Then she woke to the full realization of her position. âA prisoner in a cabin,â she groaned. âAnd yet they do not treat me badly. For my supper they set on the table the best they had. It meant a real sacrifice for them to give up this entire room to me, yet they did it. I canât understand it.â âBut I must not let them defeat me!â She brought her feet down with a slap upon the clean scrubbed and sanded floor. âSomehow, by some means or another, I must make my way to Caleb Powellâs home to-day.â Her eyes lighted upon an object that hung above the fireplaceâa long barreled squirrel rifle with a shiny new cap resting beneath the hammer. âLoaded,â she thought. âCap wouldnât be there if it wasnât. They left it hanging there because I am a girl and they were certain I couldnât shoot. Hump! I can shoot as straight as any of them.â For a moment a wild vision whirled before herâa vision of a girl bursting from a room, yelling like a wild Indian and brandishing the long rifle above her head. âNo,â she smiled. ââTwouldnât do. It would be very dramatic, but it would probably end in tragedy, and I have no desire to act a part in such a tragedy.â She dressed quickly, then stepped into the other room of the cabin where she found crisp, brown biscuits, wild honey and fried eggs awaiting her. She ate a hearty breakfast. âWho knows what strength I may need for this day?â she thought to herself as she spread honey on her third biscuit. After that, knowing from past experiences what her limitations would be, she did not attempt to go many steps from the cabin but contented herself with sitting outside the cabin door in the sun. âSuch a lovely scene,â she sighed as she looked away and away to where the peaks of Pine Mountain blended with the bluer peaks of Big Black Mountain, and all at last were lost in the hazy mists of the morning. âSo peaceful,â she thought, âyouâd think there had never been
{'title': 'The Silent Alarm by Roy J. Snell', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}