A Young Inventor's Pluck Part 32

"Now! One, two, three!"

Bang!

The door groaned. It bent out at the bottom, but still held its own.

"Try it again! Now!"

Bang! Cras.h.!.+

A thin split through one of the panels, but that was all. Jack jumped over to the model.

"What are you going to do?" asked Mont, perplexed.

"Cut our way out," was the reply.

Taking a small screwdriver from his pocket, the young machinist loosened one of the sharp knives of the miniature planer. As he did so there came a scream from beyond the road.

Jack was again back to the door. How rapidly the chips flew! Hurrah!

he had made a hole through!

He put in his finger.

"Can you reach the bolt?" asked the young man anxiously.

"Not quite!"

Again the chips flew. The hole grew larger.

"Here, Mont, try your hand. It's smaller than mine."

The young man did so. With a painful squeeze he pushed through the opening, and catching the bolt by his thumb, drew it back.

Jack then opened the door, and rus.h.i.+ng out, jumped down the steps four at a time.

"Come on!" he called back to Mont, who was vainly endeavoring to release his hand. "I think he's gone down the road."

The young machinist was not long in reaching the outside. But once there he came to a full stop.

Neither his sister nor Corrigan were anywhere to be seen!

In a few seconds Mont appeared, the back of his hand bleeding from the scratch it had received.

"Where are they?" he gasped, tying his handkerchief over the wound.

"Blessed if I know!" exclaimed Jack.

He ran to a bend in the road, and then back again. Not a soul to be seen anywhere!

Meanwhile, the young man examined the river bank. All was quiet and undisturbed. The sun had set fully an hour before, and the twilight, especially under the trees, was fast deepening.

"We can't trace them in the dark," remarked Mont, as they stopped for consideration.

"We've got to do it," declared the young machinist; "I'm going to find Deb if it takes a week."

"Then I'm with you, Jack. Come on."

"It runs in my mind that they must have taken that road," said Jack, as he pointed to the one that led down the river.

"Well, we might as well take that as any other," returned Mont. "He must certainly have carried her in his arms, and--well, I declare!

Isn't that her hair ribbon?" and he picked up a streamer of brown from the road-side.

Jack examined it.

"You're right," he replied, "We are on the direct way to overtake them.

Come!"

Both started on a run. They soon pa.s.sed the falls, and came to a clear spot on the bank of the river.

Mont uttered a cry.

"Look! Look!" he exclaimed, pointing out in mid-stream. "There they are in a boat; Corrigan is making for Blackbird Island!"

CHAPTER XXII.

HEAPS OF MONEY

Mont was right. Far out on the fast-darkening waters of the stream was a small rowboat, with Corrigan at the oars, and poor Deb huddled up on the stern seat.

Jack's heart sank within him.

"He's out of reach," he groaned. "Oh, what fools we were to let him dupe us at the mill."

"I suppose he was afraid to trust us to let him go," said the young man.

"Can't we do something?" he asked, disconsolately, as he stepped to the top of a rock to get a better view.

"Come down!" cried Jack, pulling him by the coat. "It's no use letting him know that we have tracked him so far, or he'll do his best to mislead us."

"That is so," returned the young man, and he hurried into shelter. "I suppose he intends to join Mosey and Pooler."

"It's a good thing he didn't know we had been to the island," said Jack.

"Suppose we take Meg's boat and follow?" he added, suddenly.

"We would never be able to cope with those three men. If we had arms it might be different. But we haven't as much as a toy pistol."

"Never mind, I'm going," was Jack's reply, and he made for the cove where the craft had been left.