Chapter 15 The Message in the Hollow Oak by Carolyn Keene
The Guide Disappears
The stranger stared at Nancy in astonishment. For an instant she thought he intended to deny his identity, but he reluctantly nodded his head in assent.
“Yes, I am Norman Ranny. How did you know?”
“Your mother lent me your photograph,” Nancy explained. “I also met Ann Chapelle, who told me her right name was Annette Chap.”
The color drained from the man’s face at mention of his former sweetheart.
“You have seen Annette?” he demanded, gripping Nancy’s arm so tightly that it hurt her. “Then she is still alive?”
“Yes. When I last heard from the hospital she was slowly improving. She was seriously injured in a train wreck a while back and for some time the doctors feared she could not live. Even now she is not entirely out of danger.”
“My poor Annette! If only I might go to her!”
“Can’t you?” Nancy asked quietly.
“I am afraid she would not care to see me.”
“I firmly believe she still loves you,” Nancy assured him.
Norman Ranny hung upon the girl’s words, though he shook his head sadly.
“I should like to think so, but unfortunately I am unable to.”
“Why do you say that?” Nancy inquired, puzzled at his attitude. “Surely it cannot be that you’ve changed in your feelings toward Miss Chap.”
A trifle uneasily she recalled the story the authoress had told her concerning the message in the hollow oak. If it were true that Norman Ranny had ignored the note, it was possible that even now he desired to avoid the entangling fetters of matrimony.
“I haven’t changed in my regard for Annette,” the man told her sincerely. “I have always loved her, and I always will.”
“Then why can’t you go to her now?”
“You don’t understand. I have nothing to offer her. I am only a prospector—why, people in this community do not even know my real name. I thought it best to change it after I returned from the war.”
“You have lived here ever since?” Nancy inquired.
“No. I visit my parents occasionally, and have stayed in many states and countries. There’s something about this community that always draws me back. I guess it’s because I knew Annette here.”
Nancy nodded understandingly. Then the man went on, speaking brusquely to hide his emotions:
“When I was discharged from the Army I was told that Annette had died. Until today I had no suspicion that she might still be alive.”
“Tell me, do you ever visit the old hollow oak?” Nancy asked significantly.
“Yes, quite often. I was almost killed there two nights ago during a terrific wind storm. While I was sitting under the tree, a large bough snapped off.”
“Then you were the stranger mentioned in the newspaper,” Nancy commented.
“Yes. Here is the proof of it,” the man smiled, pushing back his hair to reveal a deep gash in his scalp. “It was a wonder I wasn’t killed. Not that it would have mattered greatly.”
“Oh, you mustn’t talk that way,” Nancy said hastily.
“I can’t help feeling the way I do. Life has never been worth while since I lost Annette.”
“But wasn’t it your own fault?” Nancy inquired gently.
“My own fault? What do you mean?”
“Didn’t you ignore the message she left for you in the oak tree?”
Norman Ranny laughed shortly.
“I have been trying to forget it all my life.”
“But why did you never meet her as she requested?” Nancy asked, a trifle exasperated.
“Meet her? The note said nothing about that.”
“Didn’t it state the town just over the border where she expected to join you?”
“It most certainly did not. Annette wrote me a very cold note. I recall the words. She said, ‘I will not elope. I would rather have my grandfather’s money.’ ”
“That isn’t the way she explained it to me,” Nancy gasped. “It must all have been a hoax! Perhaps someone changed the messages.”
She then recounted everything Miss Chapelle had told her in the hospital, noting all the while that Norman Ranny was deeply moved by the story.
“I can’t understand it,” he murmured after she had finished. “If I thought she was still waiting for me I’d go to her at once.”
“I’m sure she is,” Nancy told him.
“She wrote the note nearly nineteen years ago, and I know we have both changed greatly since that time. You tell me that Annette is now a successful novelist. But I have so little to offer her.”
Nancy tried to persuade him that he was sufficient unto himself. Though he listened closely to her words, they seemed to make no definite impression upon him.
“Had I known about the exchange of notes before I went to war, everything might have been different now,” he said sadly. “Annette has her place in the city and I have my work here in the woods.”
“But if you knew that she needed you?” Nancy persisted.
“I’d drop everything and go to her.”
After a moment’s silence Nancy questioned:
“Do you often see Grandfather Chap?”
“Yes, though he does not know who I am. He became a recluse after his daughter ran away. He always ruled Annette with an iron hand, though he loved her dearly. Now he shuts himself up in his cabin with only his pet cats to keep him company.”
“I’ve already met two of them,” Nancy smiled, ruefully surveying a bruised elbow. “Have you any idea when Mr. Chap will return?”
“Not the slightest. It begins to look as if he doesn’t intend to come back here tonight.”
Nancy and her chums looked troubled.
“We don’t know what to do,” George confessed. “Our guide has disappeared. We’re stranded here in the woods.”
“Who is your guide?”
“Pete Atkins.”
“That’s queer. He’s as reliable a man as you’ll find in these parts.”
“We don’t know what to make of it,” Nancy admitted. “We brought along camping equipment, but it’s very meager.”
“The nights are pretty cold here,” Norman Ranny warned. “If Mr. Chap or your guide should not return soon, I could take you to the nearest town where you might find more comfortable quarters.”
The girls thanked him, and sat down to wait. The sun dropped lower in the sky. Long shadows soon fell upon the lake. In a short while it would be dusk.
“I doubt if it will do us any good to stay here much longer,” Ranny suggested.
“I suppose we should be starting out,” Nancy said.
After leaving a note for the guide in the event of his returning, Nancy and her chums followed the prospector a short distance through the dense timber until they arrived at a swiftly moving stream. From among the overhanging bushes the man drew forth a sturdy boat.
“This will be the quickest route,” he stated, as he assisted the girls into the craft.
Nancy was reluctant to leave the vicinity, for she had not had a chance either to talk to Pierre Chap or to inspect her newly-acquired property. As they rowed down the stream, skillfully avoiding rocks and boulders, she drew the prospector into conversation concerning the mineral value of neighboring land. When Norman Ranny replied to her questions and displayed an interest in her affairs, she gave him a description of the tract she owned.
“It’s not far from here,” the prospector told her, “though it is in an even wilder section than this. Too bad you couldn’t have inspected it.”
“That’s what I really wanted to do,” Nancy admitted. “It’s disappointing to have to leave without having seen it.”
Ranny rested on his oars as he debated the situation.
“Well, why not turn around and go back?” he proposed. “I know a trapper and his wife with whom you might perhaps spend the night. In the morning you could continue on to your own property.”
“Let’s do it!” George declared enthusiastically. “After all, we made the trip to Canada partly in a spirit of adventure!”
“Mrs. Donnelly won’t worry about us if we don’t get back to Wellington Lake for several days,” Bess added.
Nancy required no urging to decide in favor of the trip, and gratefully accepted the prospector’s generous offer to take them to the Dawson cabin. Norman Ranny directed the boat into a side stream, which was even swifter than the one they had previously taken. It required all his skill to keep them from being dashed against the rocks. Now and then a low-hanging bush would swish against the girl’s cheeks, cutting like a whip.
“I can hardly wait until I see the land,” Nancy declared excitedly. “How thrilled I’d be if there were gold on it!”
“That is the sustaining hope of every prospector,” Ranny smiled. “But this property of yours sounds mighty good to me. I’ve found several big nuggets in Pebble Creek, which flows through your place.”
“I’d love to see a nugget,” Bess remarked.
Resting on his oars for a moment, Ranny took a small leather bag from his pocket and offered it to her. Somewhat awed, Bess withdrew several small lumps of gold, balancing them in the palm of her hand.
“I thought they would glitter more than this,” she said.
Ranny laughed.
“They may not look like gold to you now,” he said, “but they are, just the same.”
After each of the girls had finished examining the specimens, Bess returned the bag to the prospector.
“I hope we’ll find a few nuggets on my property,” Nancy said wistfully. “I’d like to take them home with me as souvenirs.”
“I’ll help you pan the stream if we have time,” Ranny offered.
It was quite dark when the man finally guided the boat into a cove, and moored it. Through the trees the girls could see a light burning in a cabin. Ranny led the way, and in response to his knock a woman came to the door. She greeted him warmly, calling him by a name that was unfamiliar to Nancy and her chums.
“Come right in,” she said, when she saw the girls. “We don’t have many visitors, and we’re always glad to entertain them.”
The evening meal was cooking on a stove. The delightful aroma nearly overpowered Nancy and her chums, for they were weak from hunger.
“Sit in,” Mr. Dawson, the trapper, invited cordially, drawing up chairs for the girls. “The food’s plain, but there’s plenty of it.”
Again the three chums were ashamed of their hearty appetites, though Mr. and Mrs. Dawson insisted that they were not doing full justice to the various dishes offered them. When Nancy tactfully suggested that she intended to pay for all the trouble she and her friends were causing, the couple refused to listen.
“Don’t you give it a second thought,” their hostess chuckled. “It’s a treat for us to have you here.”
In truth, the kindly people seemed to be enjoying the company of the girls, and plied them with innumerable questions about city life. After the supper dishes had been washed, the trapper brought out his banjo and played several gay, old-fashioned tunes.
“Our sons should be coming in before long,” Mrs. Dawson told Nancy. “Herman went to the nearest settlement for our monthly order of groceries. Jake, the older boy, started out to do some trout fishing.”
As she spoke, the woman crossed over to the window to peer out. It troubled her that her boys had not yet returned.
“I can’t understand what’s keeping Jake,” she remarked a little later. “It’s too dark for him to be fishing now.”
Ten minutes later footsteps could be heard outside. The door was flung open, and a youth, clad in the rough garments of a woodsman, staggered into the room, bending low under the weight of a man whom he carried on his back.
“Jake!” Mrs. Dawson cried, rushing to him. “What has happened?”
“I found him on the trail,” he told his mother breathlessly, lowering the fellow to a couch. “He’s badly hurt.”
Nancy glanced anxiously at the injured man. He was Pete Atkins!