for a moment after their departure frank remained in a sort of stupor. they had closed the door behind them, and the only light came in by the broken window. out there was the open air, freedom, life; in the hut was a boy on the brink of eternity.

death was close to frank merriwell then. he knew it. a prayer welled up to his lips.

“god help me!”

he was frightened, but still he controlled his nerves and did not utter a single cry of terror. he knew it was useless, and he would not give those ruffians the satisfaction of hearing him shout for help. if die he must, he would die without squealing!

but he did not want to die. he was young, and life seemed good to him. it was an awful thing to be blotted out of existence in a fraction of a second—to be utterly destroyed in all his health and strength.

he felt weak and unable to move so much as his head. had he been free he would have fought like a tiger even though he were facing odds that meant certain annihilation in the end. but it was soul-crushing to be destroyed thus, utterly helpless, without the ability to lift a hand to save himself.

he twisted his neck about and looked over his shoulder at the fuse, seeing the smoke rising behind him, seeing the[148] spark of fire creeping steadily and swiftly toward the powder that would blow him into eternity.

then he tried to reach it with his teeth and tear it from the barrel. he tipped far back and grasped at it, but missed it. with frantic haste he tried again, for the fuse was growing short with fearful swiftness. in a few more moments it would not be long enough for him to reach with his mouth.

a shadow darkened the window; a voice called:

“mr. merriwell, are you there?”

“here!” gasped frank. “quick—save me! the fuse—the powder! it will——”

crack!—a revolver spoke. the person outside had fired through the window, and the bullet had cut off the burning end of the fuse just as the fire was about to run down into the barrel.

then the door was torn open, and hilda dugan, flushed with excitement and exertion, sprang in. she was dressed in a short hunting skirt, with leggings of russet leather to her knees, and on her head a cap was jauntily set. in one hand she carried the rifle, while the other held the still smoking revolver.

with a bound she reached the barrel and knocked the bit of burning fuse off the end. a moment later she whipped out a knife and began to cut the rope that held merriwell helpless.

soon merry was free, although it scarcely seemed possible to him that he had escaped death. and he owed his life to the daughter of dugan the smuggler!

“i was waiting for you,” she said; “but i realized that[149] father and jones were watching for you also. i induced father to give me the rifle, and here it is. i told you i would help you recover it. i have kept my word.”

“and saved my life in the bargain!” cried frank, clasping her hand. “i shall never be able to repay that!”

“i followed them across in my canoe,” she said; “and that is how i came to reach here in time.”

“you have been my good angel, miss dugan! never as long as i live shall i forget what you have done this day!”

“we must get away. if they heard my shot——”

she stepped to the door, and then a cry of fear escaped her lips.

“they did hear it. they are coming. we must run.”

frank followed her from the hut, but they were confronted by dugan and jones, who were running along the road. when he saw merriwell free, the leader uttered an oath and fired at him with a revolver that he had drawn as he ran.

the girl saw the movement of her father, and, in an attempt to stop him, she flung herself in front of frank. with the shot, she staggered and dropped into merry’s arms.

frank’s rifle had fallen to the ground as he caught her, but, with an awful cry of rage, he snatched the revolver from her relaxing fingers and returned dugan’s shot.

he did not shoot to kill the man, but broke his wrist with the bullet.

dugan’s revolver fell, and the man stood staring at his daughter, who lay on frank merriwell’s arm.

[150]

“my god! i’ve killed her!” he groaned, not seeming to realize that he was wounded.

but she recovered. she stood erect, swaying slightly.

“miss dugan, where are you wounded?” palpitated frank.

“here—in the side. i don’t think it is much. oh—go! i will cover your retreat. they will kill you if you do not. follow this wood road. it will take you into the regular road that leads to danforth. get as far away from here as possible, and get away quick. your life will not be worth a straw after this if you remain. go!”

“good-by! i’ll never forget!”

“sometime—somewhere—perhaps we may meet again.”

“i fear you are badly wounded. i will not leave you!”

“i tell you i am not hurt much! you must go! jones is dazed now, but he will recover. father is wounded, and i must stay and take care of that hand. it is my duty. if it were not, i would show you the way.”

still frank hesitated.

“if you will write me something—a line, a word, just to let me know how much you were hurt.”

“where?”

“yale college, new haven.”

“i will.”

“it seems cowardly to leave you this way.”

“you must. good-by! i don’t know—perhaps—you may never see me again alive. you won’t think any worse of me—will you—if i ask you to—to kiss——”

she stopped, abashed, confused, ashamed. then, with his arm about her, he kissed her.

[151]

“you are my hero!” she whispered. “i shall always think of you as that! i shall dream of you! i shall pray for you! good-by, frank!”

“i will think of you,” he responded. “i will pray for you! good-by, hilda!”

he hurried away, carrying the silver rifle that had led him into such fearful peril, and, as he went, he heard her ordering one of the men to drop his rifle, declaring she would shoot him dead if he fired a single shot at frank. no shot was fired.

when frank met his friends in mattawamkeag, he triumphantly held up the silver rifle. but when he told them what adventures and perils he had passed through in recovering it, he aroused them to a high pitch of excitement.

“well, hanged if you don’t have the luck!” grunted browning. “you have all the fun! i’d given a cent to have been there! oh! if i could have obtained a crack at old dugan! why didn’t you salt him for keeps while you were about it, merry?”

“i didn’t want his life on my hands,” said frank; “but i would give almost anything to know how severely hilda dugan was wounded. it was an awful tramp through the woods, but i got out to danforth that night, and here i am.

“yaw!” said hans, gravely; “but you didn’d come near bein’ here uf i toldt der truth apout it. dot bowder parrels britty near sent you high sky ven it tried to exbloded[152] you ups. mine gootness! i hat rudder peen seek a ped indo in prownville than to half a parrel tied to me so i vos in danger uf exbloding und plowing it up. yaw!”

“well,” observed hodge, “i think we have seen enough of the maine woods. if we stay in this part of the state longer i’ll have nervous prostration.”