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Mystery of the Fires

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<h2 id="c8">CHAPTER VIII Danger</h2> “Freckles,” said Mary Louise at supper that evening, “will you lend us your tent tonight? Jane and I want to sleep outside.” Jane raised her eyebrows. She couldn’t remember expressing any such desire. But she said nothing: she wanted to see what Mary Louise was up to now. For her chum must have some purpose in the request: something to do with the mystery of the fires. It couldn’t be just a desire for fresh air! “I suppose so,” agreed her brother. “But you know my cot isn’t very wide.” “Oh, we’ll manage all right,” returned Mary Louise. “And thank you very much.” It was not until after supper, while the girls were waiting for their boy-friends to come, that Jane had a chance to ask Mary Louise why she wanted to sleep outdoors tonight. <div class="pb" id="Page_104">[104]</div> “I want to sleep in my clothing, Jane,” was the surprising reply. “Remember the scout motto, ‘Be prepared’? That’s ours for tonight.” “Prepared for what?” “For a fire. I think there’s going to be one. I’m only hoping that it won’t be our cottage. But you never can tell.” “What makes you think there will be one tonight?” demanded Jane. “From something I learned this afternoon from that Adams family. You remember hearing Freckles describing a queer creature he saw last night on his way home from the woods? Well, we almost ran over her this afternoon! With her pitcher, looking for well water! ‘To put out the fires which the Lord sends upon the wicked’ were her words.” Jane giggled. “You think we’re as wicked as that, Mary Lou?” she asked. “You know I don’t believe that, Jane.” “Then what do you believe? Why do you think that there will be another fire?” “I think that either this crazy woman sets the cottages on fire herself, believing that she is appointed by the Lord, or else that somebody she knows is doing it, and she has inside information somehow.” <div class="pb" id="Page_105">[105]</div> “More likely she’s just prattling,” remarked Jane. “I hope so. But, anyhow, I want to be prepared to jump up at the first sign of smoke. I’m going to rig up a hose with the river, so that I can put it out if it does happen around our cottage.” “You sound almost as crazy as the old lady, Mary Lou! Next thing you’ll be taking your pitcher out for river water!” “Now, Jane, be yourself! You’ll sleep out with me, won’t you?” “I suppose so. But let’s keep Silky with us, in case one of those gypsies comes along and grabs you, the way she did at Dark Cedars.” “There aren’t any gypsies anywhere around here,” Mary Louise assured her. “No, but there’s a tramp. Freckles saw him. And a crazy woman. And from the way Mr. Flick was carrying on this morning, he’ll soon be crazy.” “He’s gone to Albany. And the crazy woman is harmless. But you’re wise about Silky: he will protect us from any tramps that might show up.” <div class="pb" id="Page_106">[106]</div> To Mary Louise’s delight, Mrs. Gay raised no objection to the plan. After all, her daughter had often slept outdoors before. So, after a pleasant evening of games and dancing at the Reeds’ cottage, the two girls went out to the tent. “You forgot your pajamas, Mary Louise!” called Mrs. Gay as she fixed up the girls’ room for Freckles. “Oh, of course,” replied her daughter. No need to alarm her mother by telling her that they intended to sleep in their clothing. They took off their shoes, changed into sweaters and skirts, and climbed into the cot. Silky lay down on the rug beside it. “It is close quarters,” whispered Jane. “But nothing like that could keep me awake.” “Me either,” returned Mary Louise, with a yawn. Five minutes later they were both sound asleep, entirely forgetful of fires or danger. But their rest was short. About one o’clock Mary Louise was awakened by a soft growl from Silky. Instantly she sat up and peered out into the darkness. It was utterly black at the opening of the tent, for the night was starless, and the trees closed out all view of the sky. Yet she perceived something light—something white—coming towards her. For one wild moment a terrible thought took possession of her imagination: Was this indeed the angel of wrath, coming to destroy their house—as that queer woman had predicted? <div class="pb" id="Page_107">[107]</div> But, no: common sense came to her rescue and assured Mary Louise things like that didn’t happen nowadays. There must be some other explanation. It must be—— A horrible inane laugh burst upon the silence of the night, wakening Jane with a cry of terror on her lips. A long arm reached through the opening of the tent, touching the girls’ cot, snatching at their feet. Then another laugh, followed by hysterical sobbing. Mary Louise reached for the flashlight underneath her pillow. But she was calm now; she was sure of the identity of the intruder. It must be the crazy woman. She flashed the light into the creature’s face, and the woman gasped in fear. “Don’t harm me! Please!” she begged. “I’m the Lord’s messenger. To tell you that the Smith’s house is on fire. There are little children to be rescued. Go! Run! I’ll follow as soon as I can fill my pitcher.” Jane and Mary Louise looked at each other in wonder. Was what she said the truth, or only a figment of her crazy brain? <div class="pb" id="Page_108">[108]</div> But they did not dare take a chance. As the poor woman said, there were children at Smiths’ big house on the hill: three children, two boys and a little girl, with only servants to look after them. And servants, unlike parents, too often think of their own safety first. “We’ll go right away, Rebecca,” Mary Louise assured her as she stepped into her pumps. “We’re all ready.” Taking only their flashlight for protection, she and Jane ran off as fast as they could go, with Silky faithfully following them. As soon as they had passed the ruins of Flicks’ Inn, they could see the smoke rising from the hill beyond. There could be no doubt about it. Rebecca was right: the Smiths’ house was on fire. The girls redoubled their pace and tore up the hill. As they came nearer they saw the flames and heard wild shouts of excitement. Then they met the Smith boys and several of the servants racing madly about. “How did it start?” demanded Mary Louise breathlessly as she almost bumped into Robby Smith. “Don’t know. In the back, somehow. That’s all wood, you know.” <div class="pb" id="Page_109">[109]</div> “Can they save it?” “Doin’ our best. All us men are working!” He stuck out his chest proudly, evidently enjoying the adventure immensely. Money was never a thing to the Smith boys. “Where’s your sister?” demanded Mary Louise. “Around somewhere. Everybody got out safe.” “With her nurse?” inquired Jane. “No. Nurse took the canoe across to the Royal—to phone to Four Corners for the fire engine.” “Then we better hunt up little Ethel and take care of her,” asserted Mary Louise. The child was only four—anything might happen to her. Flames were rising upward from behind the house, lighting up the scene vividly, showing the chauffeur, the gardener, and two maids desperately pouring water from buckets and pails. But Mary Louise did not see little Ethel. “Ethel! Ethel!” she cried wildly, raising her voice above the shouts of the men. “Where are you?” “Here me is!” came a plaintive reply, and a tiny head leaned out of a second-story window. “I comed up for my dolly!” <div class="pb" id="Page_110">[110]</div> A cold chill of horror crept over Mary Louise as she realized the dreadful peril of the child. But without a thought for her own danger she dashed through the front door and up the wide, smoke-filled staircase. “Come to the steps, Ethel!” she shrieked, her throat choking with smoke. “Come here—I’ll get you.” “Tan’t. Too smoky,” replied the little girl, beginning to sob. Mary Louise took one desperate leap and dashed through the upstairs hall to the nursery. Grabbing the child in her arms she groped her way back to the head of the stairs. She never knew how she reached the bottom of those steps. With her hand on the railing and her eyes tightly closed, she somehow made her slow progress. All she could remember was Jane’s voice at the door as she lifted the child from her arms. Then darkness—choking for breath—silence, and blessed unconsciousness! When Mary Louise finally came to, Rebecca was giving her water out of her huge pitcher and patting her shoulder gently. “Speak, Mary Lou!” cried Jane frantically. “Oh, say you’re still alive!” “I’m all right,” replied her chum, managing a smile. “And little Ethel?” <div class="pb" id="Page_111">[111]</div> “She’s fine. With her nurse. She’s back from across the river now.” Mary Louise turned her head and saw the woman at her side, clutching the child in her arms and sobbing hysterically. Other people had arrived by this time. Mr. Frazier had come over from the Royal Hotel, accompanied by Cliff Hunter, David McCall, and several other young people who were staying there, and Mr. Reed and all the Robinsons had gathered from Shady Nook. In another minute the fire engine from Four Corners came, and the volunteers got the flames under control. The front of the house was saved; only the wooden structure at the back was completely destroyed. “How did it happen?” Frazier was asking the Smiths’ chauffeur, half an hour later, when the crowd had finally gathered about Mary Louise. “Nobody knows,” replied the man. “Everybody here was in bed and asleep. No signs of any prowler, either. The fire just started with the back shed—and spread. I was the first to wake up.” David McCall looked knowingly at Mary Louise. <div class="pb" id="Page_112">[112]</div> “No signs of anybody?” he asked the chauffeur. “No clues at all?” “Maybe this is a clue,” interrupted one of the volunteer firemen, coming forward with a small box in his hand. “I found this pack of cards right where the fire must have started. But it had dropped into a pail of water—that’s why it wasn’t burned.” “Maybe the boys were playing cards and smoking corn silk,” suggested Cliff Hunter lightly. The chauffeur took the box from the fireman. “No, they ain’t our cards,” he said as he examined them. “I know ours, because I’ve bought them for the kids.” David McCall stepped nearer and uttered a sudden exclamation of surprise. “Gosh!” he said solemnly. “Recognize them, McCall?” inquired Frazier. “I sure do. They’re Cliff Hunter’s. Nobody else around here can afford to pay a dollar a pack. Look—they’re monogrammed!” Mary Louise glanced apprehensively at Cliff. He was holding the cards in his hand, nodding his assent. <div class="pb" id="Page_113">[113]</div> “Sure they’re mine. The kids must have swiped them—or maybe I lost them and they found ’em. I myself haven’t been up here to Smiths’ once this summer before tonight.” “Sez—you!” muttered David McCall under his breath. But not too low for Mary Louise to hear him and be genuinely frightened! <div class="pb" id="Page_114">[114]</div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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