CHAPTER XXIV.

LANG TAMMY HELPS RENFRO ESCAPE.

Old Bart, true to his promise, brought Renfro a book and the lantern to furnish him light for the reading. Maggie, also considerate, had polished the lantern shade, until now it gave a light which made the cave a definite room and was bright enough that Renfro could easily read.

But first he looked around the room. The stalactites, which had been specters in the half darkness, became things of beauty in the bright light. Renfro had heard that there were limestone deposits in the ground under the Hall farm. Now he was sure of it. Why this cave was very beautiful and full of promise.

“If old Jake--” Helen had told him the name of Captain Pete’s brother--“had only known it,” he thought, “there was a wealth on his own land much larger than any he could counterfeit during a lifetime.”

Bart was examining the lock on the door. He had brought in with him a package which when opened revealed another lock that he tried to adjust. But it was soon evident from his swearing that the new one was too small for the door.

Carefully the old man wrapped it up. Angry over his failure he turned upon Renfro. “You needn’t be grinning,” he said, “I’ll get a better one this afternoon.”

By slipping over on his stomach and with his hands under him Renfro could manage to read out of the book of pioneer stories Bart had fetched from the Hall library. He turned the pages with his tongue. But between pages he thought hard. If he could get loose by hook or crook he could get that old door open he was sure.

He remembered the story he had read in the detective magazine of a very wiry man who had managed to use a knife with his teeth. In Renfro’s pocket had been a sharp knife. Bart had taken it out. Had he carried it away or left it with the other things on the floor?

“While he’s gone this afternoon I’ll roll over there and see,” Renfro made his plans definitely.

A little later Maggie brought him his dinner, milk and other things she had considered delicacies which a boy of Renfro’s breeding was sure to like. She was unusually kind and Renfro felt sorry that she should be so deluded as she was.

He was so restless that he could hardly wait until Bart should start away again and he could roll over after the knife. That would take time and he must be free from the fear of discovery. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Bart begin to make preparations to leave. He heard Maggie argue with him about some things she wanted from her little home, back in town.

Bart refused to go after them, telling her that if she wanted them badly enough she would go herself. And after a little while she decided to go along. Better and better Renfro decided. Now he could do his work with alacrity, perfectly safe from any fear of discovery at all.

Bart came in after the lantern, carried it out, refilled it and brought it back. This time he left the door slightly ajar and while he was at work Renfro saw a big form slip in, crawl into the farthest corner and lay there. It was Lang Tammy and he was hiding because of the whipping Maggie had given him for tearing the binding on her coat.

Not until they were gone did Renfro call Lang Tammy and then he came, crawling and pleading exactly like a dog which has recently been beaten. But as he reached Renfro and made sure that it was his friend he became joyous and barked joyfully and frantically. And then he made ready for a game of tug.

Joyously he seized one end of the free bandage on Renfro’s hands. He gave it a pull which cut into the boy’s wrists cruelly. Another pull, another cut, and Renfro tried to stop him. But the big dog was intent on the game which was now a winning one for him. Another tug, this time a long tearing one, and something slipped, the knot the old man had tied so firmly that morning. Renfro jerked at his hands and Tammy was onto the bandage again.

And then it came loose. Renfro could have hurrahed from joy. Instead he rolled over quickly to his pile of articles taken from his pocket, found his knife, cut the thongs around his legs and stood tottering, his legs stiff and aching. With a bound he was to the door working at the lock. Indeed it was old and rusty. It gave way before his onslaught and he stood free to go out into the open.

He flew back to the other door. “Helen,” he called softly, “I’m free and you’ll be in a little while. If they come back before help comes, be sick or do anything you can to keep them interested and away from my door.”

Outside he stood in a new world which he soon identified as being the thicket below the hill on the Hall farm. He found the lower road and fairly flew to the edge of town, boarded a waiting car and rode directly to the office of the Globe.

The big building looked like paradise to him. Straight through the outer door, into the hall and back to the door marked “Route Manager, Morrison,” he hurried. And inside it he fell into Morrison’s arms.

“That wasn’t a complaint, Morrison!” he burst out. “That was a fake call! I went--”

“You--Hooch, you--you!” Morrison gasped like a drowning man, seized Renfro, and half carried, half dragged him into Circulation Manager Bruce’s office. The office was deserted except for that worthy and his stenographer. He looked up at the confusion, jumped to his feet and caught Renfro in the curve of his arm.

And to him Renfro began his story once more. “That wasn’t a complaint call last night at all. It was just a fake. I was kidnaped. It was a cave. And I found Helen Wier and--and--”

“You found Helen Wier?” Bruce shouted his question. Then before it could be answered he had dragged him to the door. And there he decided that the boy was not going fast enough. Up into his arms he lifted him. Through the hall to the elevator cage he went, Morrison following.

“Car up!” Bruce was still shouting. “Can’t wait.”

Up the steps he ran. At the landing he ducked but Renfro’s head struck the ceiling a hard whack, in spite of that, Renfro merely winced. At the top of the steps Bruce made a sharp turn, rushed against the door marked “Managing Editor” and threw it open with the weight of his big body.

Morrison, puffing and trying to obtain answers to a whole chain of questions he was hurling at Renfro, still perched perilously near the top of Bruce’s shoulders, followed. He saw Bruce drop Renfro, grab a little man who was having a discussion with Mr. North, The Globe’s managing editor, pull him to the door, shove him through and then lock the door after him.

“What in the--” North jumped to the floor, scattering proof sheets in all directions. “What--”

The little man who had been forcibly ejected was beating and pounding his protest on the panels of the big oak door but Bruce didn’t mind him. “North,” he jerked North so that he faced Renfro, “This is Renfro Horn.”

“And,” Morrison would not be ignored, “he has found Helen Wier.”

“When--where--how?” North was all editor.

“In a cave! I was there too. They kidnaped me last night,” Renfro burst out. “She’s there now! Locked in! Bart and Maggie are up town. Let’s get her before they come back.”

North pushed Morrison toward the door. “Get a taxi,” he ordered, “and keep your mouth shut.”

He jerked open his desk, took his revolver from a drawer and thrust it in his pocket. Five steps carried him to the locked door. He jerked it open, breaking the lock. “Warriner,” he called. “We’re making a trip. Big story! Extra edition! Get the presses ready for it. I’ll take Figg with me.”

The man sitting at the table on the front of which was printed “City Editor,” jumped to his feet. “Figg!” he bawled, “Figg!”

While they waited North demanded Warriner’s revolver and handed it to Bruce. “You’re going too,” he said.

Figg came out of the cubby hole which bore the name Sporting Editor--big, burly and aggressive in every step and gesture. No one ever mentioned a gun to Figg. With the first word of “Big story,” he had his gun out of his desk and in his pocket.

No one mentioned elevator this time. They made their descent down the steps. Through the hall, a curious crowd stopping at sight of the odd procession, they rushed. Morrison outside had the taxi door open and into it they sprang, Bruce, North, Figg and Renfro. Morrison thinking that he was to be left behind clung to the running board.

Renfro’s directions were shouted to the driver by North. Out of town, breaking all traffic rules they went. A sharp turn by the tile factory took them down the river road. Beyond it they rode a few yards, made another turn, jolted up a deserted lane and came to an abrupt stop.

Around the shrubbery to the passage to the open door Renfro led them. Inside the room Lang Tammy sat in a dejected attitude. Bristling every hair he jumped at the intruders, saw Renfro and sprang on him with a joyful bark.

But a girlish voice sounded above all the confusion. “Renfro, have them hurry! It’s time for Maggie and Bart any minute.”