CHAPTER VIII.WHAT HAPPENED THERE.

Chase Captured by the Smugglers.

Chase Captured by the Smugglers.

“I’ve got him, Edmund,” said the latter, in a hoarse whisper. “Bring your light. Make yourselfscarce about here,” he added, addressing himself to Wilson.

The man who had been called Edmund released the horse, and hurrying up to his companion, produced a dark-lantern from the pocket of his coat, and turned the slide. When the light blazed up, Wilson, who had sat motionless in his saddle, too nearly overwhelmed with astonishment to hear the words that had been spoken to him, saw that the men wore pea-jackets, and that they looked like sailors. He tried to get a glimpse of their features, but the lower portions of their faces were concealed by heavy mufflers, and their tarpaulins were slouched over their foreheads, so that nothing but their eyes could be seen.

“It’s him, ain’t it?” asked Edmund. “Here’s the white horse, the blue cloak with the red lining, the long, curly hair, the heavy boots and silver spurs, and the riding-whip with an ivory handle. Yes, it’s him. If you want to see daylight again, you had better be getting away from here,” he added, turning fiercely upon Wilson.

As the man spoke, he thrust his hand into the pocket of his pea-jacket and drew it out again, bringing with it a double-barrelled pistol. Thesight of the weapon must have restored Wilson’s power of action, for he wheeled his horse and galloped swiftly down the road, closely followed by Chase’s nag, which seemed unwilling to be left behind.

The suddenness of the assault, and the violence with which he was handled, rendered Chase for a few seconds speechless with surprise and alarm; and when he recovered himself sufficiently to understand what was going on, it was too late to resist and dangerous to cry out, for his hands and feet were securely tied, and a pistol was levelled at his head.

“We’ve got nothing against you, and we don’t want to hurt you,” whispered the man who held the weapon; “but you mustn’t make any fuss—mind that.”

“What are you going to do with me, anyhow? and what do you mean by assaulting me in this manner?” asked Chase, as soon as he could speak.

“Keep perfectly still, now, and don’t say another word,” was the satisfactory reply. “It’s enough for you to know that you are wanted.”

As the man said this he lifted his prisoner from the ground as easily as though he had been an infant,and placing him on his shoulders started through the bushes toward the beach; while the other put his lantern into his pocket, and hurried along in advance of him, keeping a sharp lookout on all sides. Although Chase’s brain was in a great whirl, he retained his wits sufficiently to notice that the course the men were pursuing would take them within a short distance of Mr. Gaylord’s house. He could see the lights in the window, which appeared to be dancing about among the trees as he bobbed up and down on the shoulders of the man who carried him, and he listened intently, hoping that some of the Club’s hounds would discover him and his captors, and give the alarm; but nothing of the kind happened. The men moved rapidly, but with cautious footsteps, and in a few minutes carried their prisoner down the bank and laid him in a yawl, which was moored at the jetty in front of Mr. Gaylord’s boat-house.

As he was placed on the bottom of the boat, under the thwarts, with his face downward, and the gunwales were so high that he could not look over them, he could not tell in what direction the men were taking him. They moved steadily for two hours without exchanging a word, and during thattime Chase had ample leisure to think over his situation. At last his ears told him that the men had taken in their oars, and were pushing the yawl through a dense thicket of bushes, and a few minutes afterward a sudden jar, which was followed by a violent rocking of the boat, indicated that it had come in contact with something.

“Here we are at last,” said one of the men, and Chase thought, from the tone in which he spoke the words, that he was glad that the work was over.

“I wish I was somewhere else,” said the prisoner. “Now, perhaps you will be good enough to tell me why you brought me here?”

“That’s something that we have nothing to do with,” answered the man, as he busied himself in untying his captive’s feet, while the rattle of the painter showed that his companion was engaged in making the yawl fast. “It is no part of our business to answer questions. All I can tell you is that we’re not going to hurt you if you behave yourself.”

This assurance removed a heavy burden of anxiety from the mind of the prisoner, who now, being relieved of all apprehensions concerning his personalsafety, raised himself to a sitting posture and began to look about him with some curiosity. He noted two things: that the yawl was lying alongside a small schooner, and that the schooner was anchored in a little cove which was surrounded on all sides by a dense wall of trees and bushes. He did not have time to make any further observations, for his captors, who seemed to be in a great hurry to dispose of him, assisted him rather roughly out of the boat to the deck of the vessel, dragged him down a hatchway, and thrusting him into a little locker, left him to his meditations.

Bayard Bell did not sleep a wink that night, but tossed uneasily on his bed, thinking over his plans, and waiting impatiently for daylight. He had heard of such things as smuggling vessels, and was anxious to see one; and, more than that, he wanted to know how Walter Gaylord would look bound hand and foot, and what he would say when he learned that he was to be carried away from his home and put where he would never find his way back to it again.

“I’ll tell him that I am at the bottom of all his troubles,” said Bayard to himself. “I’ll say to him: ‘Walter Gaylord, I studied up this plan andput it into execution myself; and I have done it to show you that no boy can treat me as you have done with impunity. You think yourself some pumpkins because you beat me in that boat-race, and because the fellows elected you Commodore of the Yacht Club over me. What good will that office do you, I’d like to know? Where will you be when we go on our regular cruise next summer? Somebody will command the yachts and fly the Commodore’s broad pennant, but it won’t be you—it will be a fellow about my size, and who looks just like me. And that same fellow will win the champion colors, too, next summer, for you needn’t think that the Sportsman’s Club is going to hold them.’ That’s the way I’ll talk to him for a while, and then I will begin to abuse him. Perhaps he will be impudent—I hope he will, for that will give me an excuse for hitting him a cut or two with my riding-whip. I wish it was morning.”

The long hours of the night wore away at last, and as soon as the first gray streak of the dawn was seen in the east, Bayard sprang out of bed and aroused his cousins. They, too, had passed an almost sleepless night, and were ready to start for the smuggling vessel at once, and without waitingfor their breakfast. Their horses were quickly saddled, and after a three hours’ hard gallop Bayard led his cousins into a thickly-wooded ravine, and dismounted.

“Coulte told me particularly to leave our nags here,” said he. “The schooner is only about a quarter of a mile away, and if some one should happen to be prowling about, and should find our horses hitched on the bank near her hiding-place, it might lead to her discovery. I don’t want to do anything to endanger the existence of that band, for I am going to join it some day.”

Having seen the horses concealed to his satisfaction, Bayard led his companions out of the ravine and across a narrow bottom, which was rendered almost impassable by the water and ice; and presently arrived on the bank of the cove where the schooner was hidden. The crew had heard them coming through the bushes and were evidently on the watch, for the boys saw three pairs of eyes looking at them over the top of the rail. As they stepped out into view the persons to whom the eyes belonged arose from their crouching posture, and then the boys saw that they were Coulte and his two sons. They saw at the same glance that theold man was greatly troubled about something, for he was smoking fast and furiously, and when he looked toward Bayard he wrung his hands and walked nervously up and down the deck. While the boys stood watching him and wondering what could be the matter, his sons clambered down into the yawl and came to the shore after them. As they approached, Bayard told himself that something had gone wrong with them too, for they took no notice of his greeting, but glared savagely at him, as if they had half a mind to lay violent hands upon him. Their looks were enough to frighten Will, who whispered to his cousin:—

“If we once get out of this scrape I’ll never have anything more to do with these men. I am afraid of them.”

“Nonsense! Don’t be uneasy,” replied Bayard, carelessly. “They are mad because we know that they belong to the smugglers. Let’s see them help themselves. We’ve got them completely under our thumbs.”

Having by this time reached the schooner, Bayard sprang over the rail and looked about him with much interest. Naval etiquette was strictly enforced by the rules of the yacht club of which hewas a member, and his first move was to salute the quarter-deck, which he did with as much dignity as though he had been an admiral, and his next to make a hasty but critical examination of the schooner. She was about fifty tons burden, long and narrow, with a black hull, and tall, raking masts, and was supplied with more canvas than vessels of her size generally carry. It was plain that she had been built for speed, and that she was commanded by an experienced sailor, for her rigging was well kept, and her deck was in the best possible order. Bayard was delighted with her.

“Isn’t she a beauty?” he cried, turning to his cousins. “I don’t wonder that she has never been caught; for I will warrant that she can out-sail any revenue cutter in Uncle Sam’s service. Well, Coulte, good morning! You didn’t sleep very well last night, judging by your appearance.”

The Frenchman paused long enough to take his pipe out of his mouth and give utterance to a shrill whistle, and then put it in again, and continued his walk up and down the deck; while his boys folded their arms and leaned sullenly against the rail. Bayard looked from one to the other of them and exclaimed impatiently,

“What’s the matter with everybody? That’s what I want to know. Coulte, stand still and talk to me.”

“O, Meester Payard!” cried the old man, wringing his hands violently; “vat a grand mistake is here—one grand big mistake. Ah! oui! whew!”

Coulte whistled long and loud, took a few more pulls at his pipe, and went on,

“You zee, Meester Payard, my leetle poys don’t know Meester Valter zo very veil—zey don’t seen him very many times. Zey go down last night to Meester Gaylord’s house, and zey—zey—whew!”

“Well, what did they do? Go on,” commanded Bayard.

The old Frenchman tried his best to comply, but his astonishment, or perplexity, or something else choked his utterance. He took a few more puffs at his pipe, and beckoning to Bayard, led the way forward and down a ladder into the hold.

“It’s all right, boys,” whispered Bayard, gleefully. “I thought at first that they hadn’t got him. No doubt they hurt him a little in capturing him, and that’s what troubles Coulte.”

“Perhaps they hurt him too much,” said Will,with a look of alarm. “Who knows that they didn’t kill him?”

“Eh?” exclaimed Bayard, his face growing pale with apprehension. “O, no; they didn’t do that; they wouldn’t be such fools.”

Bayard spoke confidently enough, but the words of his cousin terrified him, and it was with a great deal of impatience that he followed the deliberate movements of the old Frenchman. When the latter reached the hold, he paused long enough to light a lantern, after which he led the way to a small locker in the extreme forward part of the vessel. He opened the door, and handing the lantern to Bayard, stepped back and motioned him to enter. The boy glanced timidly into the room, and then looked suspiciously at Coulte, as if he feared that the latter were about to try some trick upon him; but a second glance into the locker reassured him. There was a prisoner there, and at the sight of him Bayard uttered a shout of triumph. He did not see much of him—nothing but his boots, for the rest of his body was hidden behind a coil of rope; but that was enough for Bayard, who knew those boots and the little silver spurs that were attached to the heels. He steppedquickly into the room, and holding the lantern over the coil of rope so that its rays fell full upon the face of the captive, exclaimed:

“Well, my young boy, didn’t we tell you yesterday that you hadn’t seen the last of us?”

“Bayard Bell, is this some of your work?” asked a familiar voice.

It was not Walter Gaylord’s voice. If it had been it would not have produced such an effect upon Bayard and his cousins. The former started back, almost dropping the lantern in his bewilderment, while Seth and Will crowded into the locker and looked over their cousin’s shoulder.

“Well, if this doesn’t beat anything I ever heard of!” said Seth, in a frightened whisper. “That isn’thim, is it?”

“No sir, it isn’t. It is somebody else, as sure as you are alive,” replied Will. “It is—it is—”

“I want to know if I have you to thank for this?” repeated the prisoner, raising himself to a sitting posture, and looking over the coil of rope at the astonished boys. “Why don’t you say something.”

Bayard was so utterly confounded that for a few seconds he could not speak. He stood as if he had been turned into a wooden boy, and then, rubbing his eyes and staring hard at the prisoner, to make sure that he was awake, called out in tones indicative of great excitement, “Hank Chase!”

“Yes, it is Hank Chase, and nobody else,” replied the owner of that name, indignantly. “Now,I want to know what you brought me here for, and what you intend to do with me?”

Bayard, who quickly recovered from his bewilderment, leaned forward to take a nearer view of the prisoner, and, paying no heed to his entreaties that he would release him, or at least explain his reasons for having him brought there, walked slowly out of the room, followed by his cousins. After closing and fastening the door, he handed the lantern to Coulte, and began pacing thoughtfully up and down the hold, thrashing his boots with his riding-whip at every step.

“Haven’t we got ourselves into a pretty scrape?” said Seth, after a little pause.

“Shut your mouth!” exclaimed Bayard, savagely.

“Haven’t we, though?” cried Will. “That plan of yours, for getting even with Walter Gaylord, has worked splendidly, hasn’t it? I wish I was a million miles from here. I am going to start for home this very day.”

“So am I,” said his brother.

“Hold your tongues, I say; both of you,” shouted Bayard, raising his riding-whip, as if he had half a mind to use it on them.

“You zee, Meester Payard,” observed Coulte, shrugging his shoulders and waving his hands, as if to say thathewas in no way to blame, “my leetle poys have made one big—one magnifique mistake.”

“Are these ‘the little boys’ who have made this ‘magnificent mistake?’” asked Bayard, looking contemptuously at the two tall, broad-shouldered men, who stood leaning against a stanchion close by, waiting to see how the interview would end. “I call them pretty good-sized boys, and think they might have known better. They are blockheads, both of them. Now, I want you to tell me how you came to make this blunder.”

Edmund and his brother were sullen at first, but after a few words of encouragement from their father, they began and told the story of Chase’s capture, just as we have related it. They wound up by saying that they could not see where they were to blame. Their father had visited them the day before, according to promise, and, after informing them that Bayard had it in his power to make serious trouble for them if he chose to do so, and gaining their consent to assist him in carrying out his plans, had told them that if they saw a boy riding a white horse, and wearing a blue cloak witha red lining, and heavy top-boots, armed with small silver spurs, to make a prisoner of him. They had met a horseman who had answered to the description perfectly, and had captured him according to orders—a proceeding on their part that they were now heartily sorry for. It was no fault of theirs that it proved to be the wrong boy, for they did not know that there were two fellows in the settlement who rode white horses, and wore blue cloaks with red linings, and besides, they were not well enough acquainted with Walter Gaylord to tell him from anybody else. When their father came over that morning to ascertain how they had carried out their instructions, he saw at a glance that they had made a mistake, and that was the first intimation they had had of the fact. Some portions of their story must have astonished and alarmed Bayard, for he stood with his mouth and eyes open, listening intently, and his face was as pale as a sheet. When the men ceased speaking, he went into the locker, closing the door after him.

“Chase,” said he, “I want to ask you something: What were you and Wilson doing in Mr. Gaylord’s yard last night after dark?”

“Eh?” ejaculated the prisoner, surprised anddisconcerted by the abruptness with which the question was asked; “I—you see—”

“Yes, I do see,” exclaimed Bayard, in a voice which trembled with anger or terror, Chase could not tell which. “I see that my suspicions are confirmed. I knew yesterday that I ought to look out for you, for there was something in your eye that told me that you and Wilson had overheard what I said to my cousins about the smugglers. This is what you get for playing eavesdropper, my young friend, and by meddling with things that do not concern you. It serves you just right.”

Bayard came out and slammed the door of the locker, without waiting to hear what else the prisoner had to say. His face was paler than it was when he went in, but that was not to be wondered at, for he knew that there was a boy in the settlement who was acquainted with his secret, and that he had made an enemy of him. He was afraid of Wilson now. Where was he? He might be in Bellville—very likely he was, for he rode a swift horse which could easily carry him there in one night—and perhaps, by this time, half the citizens of the place had heard of the plans Bayard had laid against Walter Gaylord. He trembled when he thoughtwhat a commotion the news would create in that quiet town. Everybody there knew Walter and liked him; and every one able to ride a horse, from the President of the Academy down to the smallest student, would turn out to assist him and hunt down the smugglers; and what would they do with the boy who had caused all this trouble? Bayard asked himself. The question troubled him. He saw that he had got himself into a terrible scrape, and was almost overwhelmed with alarm when he thought of the probable consequences of his act; but when he spoke, it was with great calmness and deliberation.

“This is none of my funeral, Coulte,” said he, “and I wash my hands of the whole affair. Two courses of action are open to you: You can release your captive, or you can take him to the West Indies and lose him there, as you intended to do with Walter Gaylord. My advice to you, however, is to hold fast to him; for if you should set him at liberty he would blow on you before night, and then where would you be? But the matter doesn’t interest me one way or the other. Do as you please. Come on, fellows; there is work before us, and we’ve not an instant of time to fool away.”

As Bayard said this he placed his foot on the ladder and was about to ascend to the deck, when a shrill whistle sounded from the shore. It had a strange effect upon some of those who heard it, for Coulte once more began to wring his hands, while his sons, Edmund and Pierre, started up and looked about them in alarm.

“What’s the trouble now?” asked Bayard. “Who’s out there?”

“Ah! every dings is going wrong—oui! every dings,” exclaimed Coulte. “Zare is ze captain Whew!”

The old Frenchman had been terrified before; he was doubly so now. Bayard did not pay much attention to him, for he knew that he was so excitable that he sometimes became unreasonably agitated over a very trifling matter; but when he saw that Edmund and Pierre were uneasy, he began to think there might be good cause for alarm.

“The captain!” repeated Bayard; “what would he say to us if he should find us here?”

“He mustn’t find you here,” said Edmund, who seemed to be alarmed at the bare thought of such a thing. “And you won’t be safe any where now that he has come, for he will look all over the vesselbefore he goes away, to make sure that everything is right. I wish you were at home, where you belong.”

“So do I,” said Seth, heartily.

“And I wish you had been in Guinea last night, for then you wouldn’t have captured Hank Chase instead of Walter Gaylord,” said Bayard. “That mistake will get you into serious trouble if you don’t mind what you are about.”

“Vel, vat shall be done,” asked Coulte, as another shrill whistle rang through the vessel, this time louder than before, showing that the captain was becoming impatient at the delay. “Vare shall ve hide these leetle poys?”

“Let them go into the cabin,” said Pierre, who had not yet spoken. “Edmund and I will take the yawl and go off after the captain, and when we come back we’ll make her fast to the stem of the schooner. Then let the boys watch their chance, and when we come below with the captain, let them climb out of the cabin windows into the yawl and put for the shore.”

This plan seemed to meet with approval from everybody, for Pierre and his brother at once ascended to the deck, and the boys followed Coulte,who beckoned them toward the cabin. Bayard wondered how the captain would get ashore if they went away with the boat, but as that was a matter of no interest to him, he did not waste time thinking about it. He did not care if the captain never set his foot on shore again, if he and his companions could only leave the vessel before they were discovered by him.

Arriving at the after-end of the hold, Coulte pushed open a door and ushered the boys into the cabin; and after urging them to keep their eyes and ears open, and to be ready to get into the yawl the moment they heard the captain coming below, he closed the door and left them. Will and Seth, who were intensely excited and alarmed, ran at once to the window, drew aside the curtain and looked out; while Bayard, who seemed disposed to take matters very coolly, and who was anxious to learn all he could about the smuggling vessel during the few minutes he had to remain on board of her, began to take a thorough survey of the cabin. It was a gloomy uninviting apartment, and Bayard thought that if he had been the master of the schooner he would have made a good many improvements in it. There was no carpet on the floor, anda worn-out sofa, a table and two or three chairs completed the furniture. Two doors, one on each side, opened into dark, uncomfortable looking state-rooms, each containing a bed which apparently had not been made up since it was brought on board the vessel. Bayard told himself that he would be in no haste to join the smugglers if he knew that he would be obliged to sleep in such beds as those; and perhaps if he could have seen the bunks in the forecastle he might have given up the idea altogether.

While Bayard was making his observations, Seth and Will, who were impatient to get a glimpse of the captain of the smugglers, ran their eyes along the shore as far as they could see it from the window, and presently discovered the object of their curiosity, who was leaning against a tree, engaged in whittling a switch with his knife. His back was turned partly toward them, and his hat was drawn over his forehead so that they could not see his features; but they were certain that he was no stranger to them, for there was something about him that looked familiar. Just then the yawl pushed off from the schooner, and as it approached the bank where he was standing, the man straightenedup and turned his face toward the boys at the window, so that they had a fair view of it. Could they believe their eyes? They gazed at him a moment, while an expression of blank amazement overspread their countenances, and then dropping the curtain they drew back from the window with as much haste as though the captain had suddenly levelled a revolver at them.

“What’s the trouble now?” snarled Bayard. “Anything else wrong?”

“Come here,” said Will, in reply, “and tell me if you think that is the man who is the captain of this band of smugglers.”

Bayard stepped to the window and looked out; but after he had taken one short glance at the figure who was just then stepping into the yawl, he sprang back into the middle of the cabin and gazed about him as if he were searching for some avenue of escape.

“It’s my father, as sure as the world,” said he, with a gasp.

“I thought it was Uncle David,” exclaimed Will.

“I was certain I couldn’t be mistaken,” chimed in Seth.

“And I would rather it was anybody else onearth,” continued Bayard. “I wouldn’t have him catch me here for any money. Why it doesn’t seem possible, and I can’t understand it at all,” he added, stepping to the window again and looking cautiously out. “But it must be that he belongs here, for he has got into the yawl and is talking to Coulte’s boys.”

Bayard’s surprise, perplexity, and terror were almost unbounded, and he did not wonder now that Coulte was alarmed when he knew that the captain was standing on the bank waiting to be brought on board the vessel. What would Mr. Bell say to him and his cousins if he should chance to find them in the cabin, and what would he do? This was something that Bayard did not like to think about. He kept one corner of the curtain raised, so that he could observe the movements of the yawl, while his cousins sank helplessly down upon the sofa, listening intently, and scarcely daring to breathe, lest their uncle should hear it. In a few minutes the boat reached the schooner, and Bayard heard his father clamber over the side. One of Coulte’s sons also sprang out, and the other dropped the yawl astern and made it fast there in such aposition that the painter hung down directly in front of one of the windows.

“That’s the idea!” said Bayard approvingly. “The way of escape is open to us now. You listen at the door, Will, and tell me when you hear any one coming down the ladder, and I will open the window, so that we can crawl out at an instant’s warning.”

“But how are we going to cast off the painter?” asked Seth. “It’s made fast on deck, and of course we can’t go up there.”

“We won’t stop to cast it off, we’ll cut it; and you had better have your knife out, all ready.”

“What do you suppose Uncle David will think, when he finds the painter cut and the boat gone?”

“We don’t care what he thinks. We’ll let Coulte and his boys explain that in any way they please. We want to get out of this schooner as soon as we can—that’s all that interests us just at present. Don’t this morning’s work beat you?”

While Bayard was speaking he had opened the window very slowly and carefully, and seizing the painter drew the yawl close up under the stern. Scarcely had this been done when Will announced,in an excited whisper, that there was some one coming down the ladder.

“It is time for us to be moving, then,” said Bayard, as soon as he had satisfied himself that Will’s ears had not deceived him. “Seth, give me your knife, and you and Will jump into the boat and be ready to shove off when I say the word. Be lively, now, but don’t be in too great a hurry, for the more haste the less speed, you know.”

Had Bayard been as excited as his cousins were, it is very probable that they would not have succeeded in effecting their escape from the cabin in time to avoid discovery. The two brothers displayed a great deal of awkwardness, and made considerable noise in getting through the window; and had it not been for Bayard’s help they might have stuck fast there. He held the curtain up with one hand, assisted his cousins with the other, and at the same time kept his eyes fastened on the door which he expected to see opened every instant. The voices and footsteps came nearer and nearer, and, just as a hand was laid upon the latch, Bayard dropped the curtain to its place, sprang lightly into the boat, and with one swift blow with the knife cutthe painter. Their escape had been a very narrow one, and he too began to be excited.

“Shove off,” said he, in a hoarse whisper, “and pull around the schooner, for fear that father might come to the window and look out.”

The bushes were thick, and it was a matter of some difficulty to push the heavy yawl through them; but the boys exerted all their muscle, and made such good use of their time that they succeeded in reaching the shore before any of the crew returned to the deck.

“That danger’s over,” said Seth, with a long breath of relief.

“Yes, but there’s another hanging over our heads,” returned Will. “Suppose Uncle David should happen to go into that locker and find Hank Chase there?”

“And suppose Leonard Wilson should happen to go to Bellville and tell all he knows about us and our plans?” said Bayard. “That’s another danger that you haven’t thought of.”

“Leonard Wilson!” repeated Seth. “What does he know about us?”

“He knows all about us. Didn’t Edmund and Pierre say that they saw him and Chase going intoMr Gaylord’s yard? Now, what were they going to do in there?”

Seth and Will looked at their cousin, but made no reply. Their wits were not as sharp as Bayard’s, and they did not understand the matter as well as he did.

“Humph!” exclaimed the latter, in great disgust; “can’t you see through it yet? You are the most stupid fellows I ever met in my life. The amount of the matter is, that, while I was telling you my plans yesterday those fellows sneaked up on us and overheard every word I said. We made them mad at us, and they thought they would block our game by putting a flea in Walter Gaylord’s ear. They were on their way to call on him when Edmund and Pierre captured Chase. Wilson was allowed to go free, and of course he will put straight for the village, and tell everything he knows. We’re in a pretty pickle, the first thing you know, but there is one way of escape for us. We must—what’s that?”

It was the sound of a horse’s hoofs that had attracted Bayard’s attention. The boys all heard it now, and, if they had not been so fully occupied with something else they might have heard it longbefore, for the horseman was close upon them. They did not care to be seen by him, for he might be one of the smugglers. They dived into the bushes with a common impulse, and they were not an instant too soon, for scarcely had they concealed themselves when a chestnut-sorrel pony appeared, running at the top of his speed, his rider bending forward in his saddle, and holding his arm before his face to prevent the bushes and the branches of the trees from coming in contact with it. The pony stopped when he arrived upon the bank of the cove, and his rider straightened up and pushed back his hat, disclosing to view the features of Fred Craven, who opened his eyes in surprise when he discovered the schooner lying at anchor among the bushes.

Fred Craven was a famous rifle-shot, and although he was a “towny,” he was superior in all manner of backwoods accomplishments to any boy of his age in the settlement—even to Walter and Eugene, who lived in the woods, and who had handled shot-guns and rifles all their lives. He was an enthusiastic and persevering sportsman, and boasted that he never came back from a hunt empty-handed. When the Club went out on their shooting excursions, Featherweight always strayed off by himself; and when he met his companions again at night, he had more game to show than any of them, sometimes beating all the rest of the Club put together. He thought almost as much of his pony as he did of any of his friends, and took great delight in training Flyaway, his favorite hound.

Flyaway was a remarkable dog in the estimation of his young master, although he did not stand very high in the opinion of the rest of the Club. He would hunt a covey of quails with as much skill as any old setter, would bring ducks out of the water as well as a spaniel, and fight a bear as bravely as any dog in Mr. Gaylord’s pack; but he had never hunted wild hogs, and Featherweight was anxious to see what work he would make at it. While the line was being formed that morning, and the boys and the negroes were about to advance toward the old bee-tree to attack the hogs which made their harboring-place there, Walter, who was a very prudent and cautious fellow, and seldom got into trouble, and who knew that Featherweight was sometimes disposed to be a little too reckless for his own good, thought it best to give him a word of advice.

“Now, Fred,” said he, “wild hogs are things not to be fooled with, and if I were in your place I wouldn’t put too much dependence on that animal there,” pointing rather contemptuously at Flyaway. “He is a very good turkey and deer dog, but when he presumes to hunt such game as thiswe are after now, he is getting above his business. A full grown wild hog is a terrible fighter.”

“Having hunted them a few times in my life, I am not ignorant of that fact,” replied Featherweight, assuming an air of importance that always made the Club laugh, and speaking with as much dignity as so jolly a little fellow could command. “While I entertain the very highest respect for your opinions in general, and acknowledge that you are a good judge of horses, and a passable hand at hunting small game, such as squirrels and quails, I must be allowed to remark that I think you know nothing whatever about dogs. ‘That animal,’ as you are pleased to call Flyaway, has no superior in this parish.”

“Well,” returned Walter, with a laugh, “keep close to us, and if you get into a scrape we can lend you a hand.”

But Featherweight, being plucky and independent, did not see fit to follow this advice. He kept his hound close at his side while the line was moving toward the old bee-tree, and when the hogs were started he picked out the one that he thought was the largest and ordered Flyaway to catch it. The hound sprang forward at the word, and in aninstant both he and the hog were out of sight in the cane.

Featherweight’s pony had so often shown his heels to the other horses owned by the Club, that his master had become vain of his speed, and boasted that he could not be beaten by anything; but distancing a horse on a smooth road, or over a level field, where there were no greater obstructions than logs and low fences to be encountered, was one thing, and running a race with a wild hog through a thick woods, the hog having nearly a hundred yards the start, was another. The animal made astonishing headway, and for a long time the boy could not come within sight of him. The noise he occasioned in running through the cane, and the angry yelps now and then uttered by the hound, guided the young hunter in the pursuit; but although he urged his pony forward by voice, whip and spur, he could not lessen the distance between them.

“I never knew before that a hog could run so,” soliloquized Featherweight; “and I never thought either that Flyaway was a coward. He is keeping within sight of that hog all the time, but he won’t catch him. Rex would have had him by the earlong ago. Hi! hi! Why don’t you take hold of him there?”

The hound replied with a short, quick bark, and a commotion in the bushes told the young hunter that he was doing his best to obey the command. Featherweight yelled encouragingly and urged on his horse, which with a few more jumps brought his rider to the scene of the conflict—or, rather, to the spot where it had taken place; for when Featherweight reached it the struggle was over. Flyaway was a badly-whipped dog, and the wild hog was out of sight.

“Now just look at that!” exclaimed the boy, indignantly, gazing after his hound which was retreating precipitately through the cane, with his sides bleeding from several ugly-looking wounds made by the long teeth of the wild hog. “That puts an end to your hunting for a month or two, my fine fellow; perhaps for ever. I’ll capture that hog now if I have to follow him for a week. I’ll try to tire him out and ride him down; and if I can’t do that, I’ll head him off and turn him back toward the old bee-tree, so that some of the other dogs can have a chance at him.”

Featherweight, knowing that his wounded favoritewould make the best of his way to Mr. Gaylord’s house, and that when he arrived there he would receive every attention from Uncle Jim, the old negro who had charge of the hounds, once more put spurs to his pony and dashed through the cane in hot pursuit of the hog. He did not follow directly after him, but gradually turned off to the left of the trail, hoping to pass him and compel him to turn back in the direction from which he had come.

How long the chase continued Featherweight could not have told. The rapid pace soon began to tell upon the pony, which showed a desire to settle down into a slow gallop; but the hog went ahead as swiftly as ever. As the boy had eyes and ears for nothing except the game he was pursuing, he did not know in what direction he was going or where he was, until he discovered an opening through the trees in front of him, and came suddenly upon the bank of the cove where the smugglers’ schooner was hidden. He thought he must be close upon the hog now, for, just as he drew rein, he heard a rustling among the bushes a little distance off; but had he investigated the manner, he would have found that the noise was not occasioned by the wild hog, but by Bayard Bell and hiscousins, who were concealed behind a log, watching his movements.

The sight of a schooner hidden away among the bushes in that lonely place was a most unexpected one to the eyes of the young hunter, and speedily drove all thought of the game out of his mind. He could not account for her presence there, and the longer he looked at her the more he wondered, and the more surprised he became. He ran his eye all over the vessel, noting the fine points about her that had so deeply interested Bayard Bell, but he could not discover anything that looked familiar, and he was finally obliged to conclude that he never had seen her before.

“I’ve lost the hog,” said Featherweight to himself, gazing all around him to see if there were any of the crew of the vessel in sight, “but I’ve found a schooner. Who owns her? Who brought her here? Where are the men who belong to her, and why is she hidden away in this cove? I can’t see any one about her,” he added, seizing a branch above his head and standing erect in his saddle to obtain a view of her deck. “Yes, sir; she’s deserted, and here’s her yawl lying on the shore.Now, that’s lucky. I’ll just step aboard and examine into things a little.”

As Featherweight said this he hitched his pony to a limb of the tree, sprang to the ground, and in a few seconds more was pushing the yawl through the bushes toward the schooner. Had he gone around the stern and looked in at one of the windows—the curtains were raised now—he would have seen that the vessel was not deserted, and that there were four men there engaged in consultation: but he pulled straight toward the bow, and after making the yawl’s painter fast to the bobstay, sprang over the rail and looked about him. He could see no one. He listened, but could hear nothing, for the door leading into the cabin was closed, thus shutting out the sound of the conversation carried on by the captain and his men. Stepping to the forehatch he looked down into the hold, and the first, object that caught his eye was a lighted lantern, standing at the foot of the ladder—the same one Bayard had used during his interview with the prisoner.

“That’s the very thing I need,” said Featherweight, as he descended into the hold. “I will look all over this craft now, and see if I can findsomething to tell me what she is and where she belongs. Suppose she should prove to be a private yacht, whose owner has come up here with a party of friends to go deer-hunting? If they should return suddenly and find me prowling about, they might not like it. Perhaps it would teach them that it is a good plan to leave a watch on board a vessel.”

The first thing Featherweight noticed when he reached the bottom of the ladder was, that for a vessel the size of the schooner, her hold was very shallow. He could scarcely stand erect in it. He was surprised at this, and he would have been still more surprised if he had known that the floor of the hold was provided with a fore, main and after hatchway, like the deck above, and that they led down into a second hold—the real hold of the vessel, in fact—which was nearly as large as the one in which he was then standing. He learned all about that, however, and about a good many other things, before he got through with the schooner. If he had known all that was to happen to him before he put his foot on shore again, he would have got out of that vessel without the loss of a single instant.

The hold was empty, and Featherweight did not see anything to attract his attention until he crawled through a narrow passage-way that led around the forecastle to the extreme forward part of the vessel. There he discovered a locker, and the key was in the door. Little dreaming what was on the other side of that door, he turned the key, and holding his lantern above his head looked into the room. He was not easily frightened, but he saw something that made the cold chills creep all over him, and caused him to utter a cry of alarm and stagger back into the hold as if some one had struck him a blow. It was a pale, haggard face which looked at him over the top of a coil of rope. He did not see anything familiar in it, but he recognised the voice which asked in indignant tones:

“Are you ready to answer my question now?”

The sound of the voice quieted Featherweight’s nerves, and after a moment’s hesitation he stepped into the locker and lowered his lantern so that he could obtain a fair view of the face. “It can’t be possible that this—Chase, what in the name of wonder are you doing in this hole?” he asked, as soonas he had satisfied himself as to the identity of the occupant of the locker.

“Fred Craven!” cried the prisoner, in great amazement. “Well, I am beaten, now. I am taken all aback.”

“So am I,” replied Featherweight. “What are you doing here?”

“I didn’t know that you were one of these fellows.”

“What fellows?”

“I should be glad if you would bring me a mouthful to eat, for I am almost famished,” continued Chase, without answering Featherweight’s question. “But first I want to know why you brought me here, and what you intend to do with me?”

“I!” Featherweight almost shouted; “what did I have to do with bringing you here?”

“Well, you know something about it, don’t you?”

“I!” repeated Featherweight, growing more and more bewildered. “Boy, you’re crazy. Why don’t you get up and come out from behind that coil of rope?”

“Look here!” exclaimed the prisoner, who didnot seem to understand the matter at all; “are you not one of them?”

“One of whom?”

“Don’t you belong to the band?”

“What band?”

“Why, the smugglers.”

“Eh! Chase, you’re dreaming.”

“Do I dream that I am a prisoner?”

“A prisoner!”

“Yes; and that I have been shut up here ever since last night? If you are not one of them, what made you come here? How did you get aboard?”

“I came off in the yawl. I found it on shore.”

“Did you?” exclaimed Chase, eagerly. “That accounts for it. I understand the matter, now.”

“I don’t,” replied Featherweight. “I am all in the dark.”

“If you will release me I will soon enlighten you. You will have to use your knife, for my hands are tied behind my back, and one end of the rope is made fast to a ring-bolt in the deck, so that I can’t get up.”

Featherweight was more amazed than ever when he found that Chase was a prisoner, but he refrained from asking any questions, knowing that in duetime he would hear all about it. He forgot now that Chase was his sworn enemy, and that only the day before he had been standing face to face with him in a hostile attitude, and that when Bayard and his men approached to attack the Sportsman’s Club, Chase had singled him out as his own special object of vengeance, and made at him as though he meant to tear him in pieces. Featherweight did not care to remember this against him now; but Chase must have thought of it, for when his visitor placed his lantern on the floor, and, clambering over the coil of rope, bent down to untie the prisoner’s arms, the latter said, with some embarrassment—

“Fred, I little thought yesterday that I should ever have to ask a favor of you.”

“Never mind it now,” replied Featherweight. “I didn’t bear you any ill-will, and I hope that from this time forward we will be fast friends.”

“You may safely bet on me,” said Chase, earnestly, as Featherweight helped him to his feet. “You have rendered me a great service, and I’ll never forget it. Now, let’s leave here at once. I have passed a most miserable night in this locker, and I want to get out of sight of it as soon as I can. I will explain everything presently.”

Featherweight knew from his companion’s manner that he had some exciting revelation to make. Wondering what it could be, and impatient to hear it, he picked up his lantern and started back through the passage-way, closely followed by Chase, who kept looking back over his shoulder, as if he were afraid that there might be some one pursuing him. When they reached the ladder, and Featherweight was about to ascend to the deck, Chase caught him by his sleeve and held him back. “Be very careful,” said he, in a suppressed whisper, “there may be some of them still on board, and if they see us we are done for.”

“They? Who?”

“Why, Coulte and his sons. Yes, they are members of the band,” added Chase, in response to an inquiring look from his companion, “and they are the ones who got me into this scrape.”

“What have you done to them?”

“Nothing. They were acting under instructions from Bayard and his cousins. They attacked Wilson and me last night while we were in Mr. Gaylord’s yard, and pulled me off my horse.”

“Who did—Bayard and his cousins?”

“No, Coulte’s boys.”

While this conversation was going on the door of the cabin opened, and the four men who had been holding their consultation there came out and ascended to the deck. The moment Mr. Bell reached the top of the companion-ladder he heard the sound of voices coming from the forehatch, and his suspicions were aroused at once.

“Who’s that?” he asked, turning to Coulte, who was close at his heels.

The old Frenchman, who also heard the voices, was so astonished and alarmed that he could not answer the question. He stepped cautiously to the side of the vessel and saw the yawl made fast to the bobstays. Could it be possible, he asked himself, that Bayard, instead of going ashore with the boat, as he ought to have done, had pulled around the schooner, and gone down into the hold to have another talk with the prisoner? If such was the case, his discovery by his father was certain. Mr. Bell saw from the expression of Coulte’s face that there was something wrong, and ordering him and his sons in a low but stern voice, to remain perfectly quiet, he walked forward on tip-toe. Arriving at the hatchway, he looked down into the hold and saw the two boys there—Chase sitting on the lowerstep of the ladder, gazing at his wrists, which were red and swollen from having been so long confined, and Featherweight standing in front of him with one hand in his pocket, and the other holding a lighted lantern. Mr. Bell was about to call out to them and demand what they were doing there, when something one of them said attracted his attention; and drawing back from the hatchway so that he could not be seen if either of the boys should chance to look toward the deck, he listened with all his ears. The first word he heard brought an expression of amazement to his face, which gradually changed to a look of intense alarm as the conversation proceeded.

“Chase,” said Featherweight, “I can’t make head or tail of what you are trying to tell me. Now begin at the beginning and let me know how you came here, who brought you, why you were bound and confined in that locker, and all about it.”

“Do you know that there is a gang of smugglers around here, and that we see and talk to some of its members nearly every day?” asked Chase, abruptly.

“No,” replied Featherweight. “I knew there was such a band somewhere on the coast, for Walterwas reading about it this morning in the paper; but I didn’t know that they were so near us.”

Featherweight remembered that Perk had given it as his decided opinion that, if the Sportsman’s Club and Bayard and his men had come to blows on the preceding day, the Club would have whipped three of the relations of the ringleader of the band; but he did not allude to it, for he was not in the habit of repeating what was said to him by his friends. It was this quality—the ability to hold his tongue, and a very rare one it is, too—that had made Featherweight so many friends. If any of the students at the Academy wanted a trustworthy confidant, they always selected him, for he was never known to tell a secret. More than that, they could say what they pleased before him about anything or anybody, so long as they did not abuse any of his friends, and there was no danger that it would ever be repeated.

“Well, they do live near us—right here in our very midst,” continued Chase; “and you are at this moment standing on board their vessel!”

“No!” exclaimed Featherweight.

“But I say, yes; you are. And now I will tell you how I came to find out about them.”

Chase settled himself into an easy position on the ladder, and proceeded to give his companion a history of everything that had happened to him since he had last seen the members of the Sportsman’s Club. He told how Bayard and his cousins had excited the suspicions of himself and Wilson by leaving them and going off together; how they had crept through the bushes and overheard their conversation about the smugglers, and the plans they had laid against Walter Gaylord; how Bayard, in order to get him and Wilson out of the way, had raised a quarrel with them and told them to go home; how they had waited until dark and then started for Mr. Gaylord’s house, intending to see Walter and put him on his guard against Coulte and his sons; how they had been waylaid at the gate by a couple of sailors, who proved to be Pierre and Edmund; and wound up giving an account of Bayard’s visit to the schooner that morning.

“From some things Bayard said when he was here,” added Chase, “I have come to the conclusion that they did not intend to capture me, but mistook me for Walter. You know I ride a white horse and dress something like him, and it is very easy for one to make a mistake in the dark. Bayardwas astonished and very angry when he found me in the locker, and I heard him say to Coulte that it was none of his affair (alluding, I suppose, to my capture), and that he washed his hands of it.”

“Then why didn’t Coulte set you at liberty?” asked Featherweight.

“I suppose he was afraid that I would go to the village and make trouble for him,” replied Chase; “and I can assure him that his fears were well founded. I am not going to be bound hand and foot and shut up in a dark hole like that for nothing; now I tell you. If I don’t raise a breeze in this settlement as soon as I put my foot on shore again, it will be because I don’t know how. He didn’t help the matter much by keeping me a prisoner, for Wilson is at liberty, and I know he won’t eat or sleep till he tells my father everything.”

“And so they intended to lose Walter in the West Indies? That’s a queer idea.”

“I call it absurd. That boy couldn’t be lost in any part of the world. He would find his way home from the North Pole. But there’s another thing I want to tell you,” added Chase, sinking his voice almost to a whisper, and assuming a very mysterious air which made his companion impatientto hear what he was about to say, “and that is, that Bayard’s father is the leader of this gang.”

“No!” cried Featherweight again.

“It’s a fact. While Bayard was talking with Coulte just outside the locker—I heard every word he said—some one whistled from the shore, and the old Frenchman declared that it was the captain. I heard a boat put off from the vessel and come back with Mr. Bell. I know it was he, because I recognised his step and also his voice. I have heard him speak a good many times during the three weeks I have been visiting at his house, and it is impossible that I should be mistaken.”

“Where do you suppose he is now?” asked Featherweight, who told himself over and over again that Chase had certainly taken leave of his senses, and didn’t know what he was talking about.

“He may be on board the vessel, for all I know; or he may have gone ashore with the yawl and left it where you found it. We’d better be going, too.”

“I should say we had,” replied Featherweight, making his way cautiously up the ladder. Although he did not believe a word of the story he had heard—he told himself it was utterly unreasonable—hethought it best to be on the safe side, and to reconnoitre the deck before he went up there. “I am glad I have been able to do you a service, Chase,” he added; “but if I had known that this craft was a smuggler, you wouldn’t have caught me——”

Featherweight suddenly paused, his face grew as pale as death, and he backed down from the ladder with much greater haste than he had ascended it. While he was speaking he happened to look upward, and saw Mr. Bell leaning over the combings of the hatchway, glaring down at him like a caged hyena. He began to put a little more faith in Chase’s story, now.

It is hard to tell which was the most astonished and alarmed—Mr. Bell or the two boys. Chase and Featherweight stood at the foot of the ladder, looking up into the scowling, angry face that was bending over them, and Mr. Bell folded his arms and looked savagely at them in return. For fully five minutes no one spoke; but at the end of that time the leader of the smugglers seemed to have determined upon something, for he beckoned to Coulte and his sons, who came up immediately. “Go down there and tie those boys,” said he. “Tie them hard and fast.”

Edmund went forward after a piece of rope, and Coulte and Pierre descended the ladder, laid hold of the prisoners’ collars, and held on to them without saying a word. Edmund presently came down with the rope, and in two minutes more Chase and Featherweight were powerless.

“Now come up here,” said Mr. Bell, who had watched the whole of the proceeding from the head of the ladder. “I have a word to say to you.”

Coulte and his sons ascended to the deck, and Mr. Bell began a conversation with them which was carried on in a tone of voice loud enough for the prisoners to hear every word that was said. Their minds were at once relieved of all apprehension on one score, for they learned that their captors did not intend to do them any bodily harm; but Mr. Bell had formed some disagreeable plans concerning them, and their hearts sank within them when they heard them unfolded and explained to Coulte and his boys.

“Now, then,” said Mr. Bell, who seemed anxious to have done with what he had to say, and to get the subject off his mind as soon as possible, “I don’t want any time wasted in excuses or explanations, for I know all about it. You have got yourselves and me into a nice scrape, and we must get out of it the best way we can. As you captured Chase on your own responsibility and without any orders from me, you can take care of him yourselves. The crew will begin to return very soon, and they mustnot find him here. You will take him off the vessel at once—this very moment.”

“But what shall we do with him?” asked Edmund.

“I don’t care what you do with him, so long as you don’t hurt him. I know what I shall do with Fred Craven. I shall start with him for Cuba this very night, and hire a Spanish sea captain, who trades between Havana and Vera Cruz, to ship him as a foremast-hand, and take him to Mexico. I don’t care what becomes of him after that. All I want is to get him out of the country until I can have time to pack up and leave for Europe. Come, Edmund, bring the yawl alongside and stand by to take your prisoner ashore, and, Coulte, while he is doing that, you and Pierre take Craven into the hold and stow him away there.”

The Frenchman and his boys, who were not at all pleased with this arrangement, started off to obey the commands of their superior, and the captives, who had listened eagerly to their conversation, turned and looked at one another. “Good-by, old fellow,” said Featherweight, who kept up a light heart in spite of the gloomy prospects before him.“Do you suppose that we shall ever see each other again?”

“We will if they ever give us half a chance to get away from them,” replied Chase. “They had better never take their eyes off of me. But I say, Fred, I believe I’d rather be in my boots than yours.”

“I don’t doubt it. You will be on shore near friends all the time, and your chances for escape or rescue will be much better than mine; for I shall be shut up in a dark hole during a voyage of six hundred miles. That’s not a pleasant idea, I tell you. Suppose the schooner should go down in a storm while we are crossing the Gulf? They’d never think of coming below to release me.”

“And if you reach Havana in safety, there’s the Spanish sea captain,” chimed in Chase. “A voyage under him will be the worst part of the whole business, according to my way of thinking. Some of these old ship-masters are so brutal. They’ll knock a foremast hand down with a belaying-pin without any provocation at all. There they come—good-bye! I wish I could shake hands with you.”

The appearance of Coulte and Pierre, who came down the ladder at this moment, put a stop to theconversation. The former carried an axe in his hand and glared at Chase as if he had half a mind to use it on him; but he had brought it down there for a different purpose. He picked up the lantern, and walking around behind the ladder inserted the edge of the axe into a crack in the deck, and after a little exertion succeeded in prying open a small hatch which led down into the hold of the vessel, and which fitted into the deck so nicely that a stranger might have walked over it a hundred times without discovering it. After placing his lantern upon the deck, so that its rays would shine into the opening, the Frenchman jumped through the hatchway and held up his hands; whereupon Pierre lifted Featherweight from the deck and lowered him down into the arms of his father, who laid him away in the corner of the hold as if he had been a log of wood. This done, he carefully examined the prisoner’s bands, and having looked all around to make sure that everything was right in the hold, sprang out of the opening, struck the hatch a few blows with his axe to settle it in its place, and then ascended to the deck. Featherweight heard him when he returned and carried Chase up the ladder; knew when his companionin trouble was lowered over the side into the yawl, and also when Mr. Bell left the vessel. After that silence reigned, broken only by the footsteps of Edmund, who paced the deck above. Featherweight waited and listened for a long time, hoping that the man would come below and talk to him—anything was better than being shut up alone in that dark place—and finally stretched himself out on the boards and tried to go to sleep.

Chase, who did not possess half the courage and determination that Featherweight did, and who was inclined to look on the dark side of things, began to be lonesome and down-hearted when he found himself standing on the shore with Coulte and Pierre; and when he saw that they continued to direct angry glances toward him, as though they regarded him as the cause of all their trouble, he became alarmed, and told himself that perhaps after all he would be much safer in Featherweight’s boots than in his own. His mind would have been much relieved if he had only known what his captors intended to do with him, but they did not show a disposition to enlighten him, and he was afraid to ask them any questions.

As soon as Edmund, who brought them off in theyawl, had returned to the schooner, Coulte started on ahead to act as an advance guard, and to give warning, in case he saw any one approaching, while Pierre busied himself in untying Chase’s feet so that he could walk. After that he took his prisoner’s arm and conducted him through the woods until they reached a well-beaten bridle-path, leading from the cove to Coulte’s plantation, which was about four miles distant. At the end of an hour’s rapid walk they arrived within sight of the clearing, and discovered the old Frenchman standing on the porch in front of the house waiting for them. He was on the lookout, and when Pierre came into view he waved his hat as a signal for him to approach.

“When a man is engaged in business of this kind, he can’t be too particular,” said Pierre, now speaking for the first time since he left the schooner. “There may be some of your friends around here, for all I know, and if they should see me marching you up to the house with your hands bound behind your back, they would suspect something; so I will untie you, but I wouldn’t advise you to try any tricks.”

Chase had not the least intention of trying anytricks, for he was too completely cowed. While Pierre was untying his hands, he looked all around in the hope of seeing some friend approaching; but, with the exception of the old Frenchman, there was no one in sight. For all that, however, there was somebody near who saw all Pierre’s movements, and understood the meaning of them. Chase passed within ten feet of him, when he walked to the porch where Coulte was standing, the concealed friend watching him closely, and mentally resolving that he would seize the very first opportunity to make a demonstration in his favor.

Chase had passed many a happy hour under the old Frenchman’s roof. In company with Bayard Bell and his cousins he had eaten more than one good dinner there, and had spent whole evenings listening to the stories of Coulte’s hunting adventures; but he had never entered the house under circumstances like these, nor had he ever before met with so cold a reception. The Frenchman did not take his pipe out of his mouth, give a long whistle, indicative of pleasure, and exclaim in his broken English, “I been glad to zee you, Meester Shase,” as he usually did, but followed him sullenly into the house, and without saying a wordbegan to tie him—an operation in which he was assisted by Pierre. When this had been done, he picked up a lighted candle that stood on the table, raised a trap-door in one corner of the room, and descended a flight of rickety steps that led into the cellar, closely followed by Pierre, who carried Chase on his shoulders. The prisoner was laid upon the floor in a dark corner, and then the Frenchman and his son ascended to the room above and sat down to smoke their pipes, and talk the matter over. Their conversation came plainly to Chase’s ears through the wide cracks in the floor, and through the trap-door which they had left open, and, although it was carried on in the French language, he understood every word of it.

“Well,” said Pierre, after a long pause, “what’s to be done? Have you thought of anything?”

“I have,” replied his father. “We’ll adopt Mr. Bell’s plan, only we’ll have to carry it out on a smaller scale. He’s going to take his prisoner to Cuba; but as we have no boat large enough to make so long a journey, we’ll have to take ours to Lost Island, and leave him there.”

“Why, that’s only forty miles away!” exclaimed Pierre.

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