“That’s plenty far enough. He can’t swim that distance; there’s nothing on the island that he can make a boat of; he will be out of the path of vessels going to and from New Orleans, and I’d like to know how he will reach the main shore again. He’ll stay there three or four days at any rate, and that’s all we want. By the end of that time we will have sold off our property, and taken ourselves safe out of the country; for, of course, we can’t stay here any longer. If he gets back in time to upset some of Mr. Bell’s plans, why, that’s no business of ours.”
“But how can we go to the island without a vessel?”
“We’ve got as good a vessel as we want. We’ll go in the pirogue. We’ll have to take care that the boy doesn’t freeze or starve to death before he is taken off the island,” continued Coulte, “and so we will give him an axe, a flint and steel, a blanket or two, and provisions enough to last him a week. When they are gone he must look out for himself.”
Another long pause followed, during which Pierre was evidently thinking over the plan his father had proposed. Chase thought it over too, and the longer he pondered upon it, the more earnestly hehoped that Pierre would find some serious objection to it, for it did not suit him at all. In the first place, there was the voyage of forty miles in the pirogue, the bare thought of which was enough to make Chase’s hair stand on end. The pirogue was a large canoe capable of holding about twenty men. It was furnished with a sail and centre-board, and before a light wind could run, as the students used to say, “like a scared deer.” She had considerable breadth of beam for a vessel of that description, and could not be easily overturned; but still she was not the craft that Chase, if he had been allowed to have his own way, would have selected for a voyage of forty miles across the Gulf, especially at that season of the year. There were not many chances in a thousand that she would accomplish the journey in safety.
In the next place there was the prospect of a lonely residence on the island, and that, under the existing circumstances, was by no means a pleasant thing to look forward to. Lost Island was a most inhospitable place. No one lived on it, and Chase had never heard of a vessel stopping there. It was low and sandy, and in calm weather there were perhaps a thousand acres of it out of water; butduring a storm the waves washed all over the lower end of it, leaving in sight only a solitary bluff, about a hundred feet high, which was the only spot on the island that was covered with timber. Like most boys of his age, Chase had read and admired Robinson Crusoe, and if his captors had only given him a gun, plenty of ammunition, and a companion like his friend Wilson or the jolly little Featherweight, he would have had no objections to imitating that adventurer’s manner of life for a short time. There would be something romantic in it, and they would have so much to talk about when they came back! But to be put off there by himself in the dead of winter, with only a week’s provisions, and a fair prospect of starving to death when the supply was exhausted, was a different matter altogether. He could see no fun or romance in that, and he didn’t want to go to Lost Island! but Pierre evidently thought it just the place for him, for, after turning the matter over in his mind for some minutes, he said to his father:
“Your plan is the best that could be adopted. We’ll start this very night, and we’ll go down now and put the pirogue in the water and get everything ready. I will go after the sail and oars, and you can lock up the house.”
Pierre left the cabin, and his father raised the trap-door and went down into the cellar to take another look at the prisoner. He tightened up a little on the ropes with which he was confined, and when he went out of the cellar he piled the bureau, table and all the chairs upon the door so that it could not be raised from below. Having thus, as he thought, put it out of Chase’s power to ascend out of the cellar, even if he succeeded in freeing his hands and feet, Coulte locked the door of the house and joined Pierre, who stood with a sail on one shoulder and a pair of oars on the other, ready to start for the bayou where the pirogue lay.
Pierre little dreamed how near he came to discovering something, while he was securing the sail and oars that belonged to the pirogue. They were kept in one of the corn-cribs—a log building about twenty feet long and fifteen feet high, which was filled with corn in the ear to a level with the eaves. A ladder on the outside of the building led up to a small door ten feet from the ground. As Pierre mounted this ladder he was surprised to see that the door, which he was always careful to keepclosed, was ajar; and when he reached in to get the sail he found that, instead of being rolled up as it was when he left it, it was spread out over the corn. He thought, too, that the sail had increased wonderfully in weight since the last time he handled it, for it was all he could do to pull it out of the crib. But he got it at last, and the oars too; and after closing and fastening the door he backed down the ladder to the ground.
No sooner had the sound of his footsteps died away than a boy, who was snugly hidden among the corn, lifted a very pale face and turned it towards the door, and after picking up his hat, which had been knocked off his head by the sail when Pierre drew it out of the crib, cautiously raised himself to a sitting posture, and waited to recover from the fright he had sustained. He listened intently all the while, and having satisfied himself at last that Pierre did not intend to return to the crib, he crept carefully over the corn to the opposite end of the building, and, looking out between the logs, saw him and his father disappear in the woods on the opposite side of the clearing.
“Now, that’s what I call a close shave,” said he, drawing a long breath. “I’d give something toknow what they would have done with me if they had found me here. That fellow who pulled the sail off me is one of those who attacked us last night in Mr. Gaylord’s yard. I know him, if he hasn’t got his pea-jacket and tarpaulin on. I wonder where they are going, and whether or not they will be away long enough for me to do something for Chase.”
It was Leonard Wilson who spoke. Instead of riding straight for Bellville, as Chase hoped and believed he would, he had loitered about in the woods all night, turning over in his mind a hundred wild schemes for assisting his distressed friend, and at no time had he been more than five miles away from him.
The last we saw of Wilson, he was riding down the road post-haste, eager to put a safe distance between himself and the double-barrelled pistol that one of Chase’s captors drew from his pocket. After he had run his horse a few hundred yards it occurred to him that he was exhibiting anything but a courageous spirit by deserting his companion in that inglorious manner, when he had a gun slung at his back, both barrels of which were heavily loaded with buckshot. As this thought passedthrough his mind, he pulled up his horse with a jerk, and being determined to make same amends for his cowardly behavior, faced about and went tearing down the road towards the gate, unslinging and cocking his gun as he went. It was his intention to ride boldly into the yard, level his double-barrel at the heads of Chase’s assailants, and demand his immediate release; but the plan was conceived a little too late in the day to be successfully carried out; for when he reached the gate, he found that both Chase and his captors had disappeared.
“Never mind,” soliloquized Wilson, who thought that he understood the matter as well as though it had been explained to him; “I am not beaten yet. Those two fellows are Coulte’s boys, and they have made a mistake and captured Chase instead of Walter Gaylord. But they shan’t keep him long. Bayard said yesterday that Coulte is very much afraid of the law, and I’ll test the truth of that assertion the first thing to-morrow morning. If I catch the old fellow by himself, I will tell him if he doesn’t have Chase set at liberty, I will lodge him in jail in less than two hours. I ought to go to his house this very night, and I would, if I were notafraid that I should find his boys there. I should not dare to threaten them for fear they might not scare as easily as the old man.”
While these thoughts were passing through Wilson’s mind he was riding along the road toward the residence of the old Frenchman, still closely followed by Chase’s horse, which galloped after him like a dog. He approached as near the house as he dared, and then halted in a little ravine and set about making himself comfortable for the night. He started a fire with the flint and steel he always carried in the pocket of his shooting-jacket, built a blind to protect him from the cold north wind that was blowing, hobbled the horses and turned them loose in the cane to graze, and after collecting a supply of fire-wood, sufficient to last until morning, he scraped together a pile of leaves to serve as a bed, pulled his overcoat over him and tried to go to sleep. But that was a matter of some difficulty. The recollections of the exciting events of the day, and his anxiety concerning the success of his plans for effecting Chase’s release, banished sleep for the better part of the night, and it was four o’clock before he closed his eyes.
He awoke just as the sun was rising, and as soonas his eyes were fairly open he was on his feet making preparations for visiting the old Frenchman’s house. He pulled on his overcoat, slung his gun over his shoulder, and stood for some minutes looking first at his saddle and bridle which lay on the ground near him, and then toward the cane, where he could hear his horse browsing, debating in his mind whether he had better ride or walk. He finally decided on the latter course. His first care must be to ascertain whether or not Coulte was at home, and if so if he was alone; and, in order to accomplish this, he must approach as near the cabin as he could without being discovered. If he went on horseback, he would certainly be seen by any one who might happen to be in the house before he was half way across the clearing; but if he went on foot, he could make use of every tree and stump to cover his approach. Having settled this point, Wilson set off at a brisk walk, and in half an hour more was concealed in one of the old Frenchman’s corn-cribs waiting to see what would turn up. He found the house deserted, Coulte having started off at the first peep of day to visit the schooner, and ascertain how his boyshave succeeded in their efforts to capture Walter Gaylord.
“I don’t know where the old fellow has gone,” said Wilson to himself, taking up a position in the crib from which he could see every part of the house, “but there is one thing certain, and that is that he can’t remain away for ever. I’ll stay here and wait for him. If he comes back alone I will go out and speak to him; but if his boys come with him I’ll keep close. The wind blows cold through these cracks, but this sail will serve me as an extra overcoat.”
Wilson covered himself up with the sail, and for the next two hours remained quiet in his concealment, awaiting the old Frenchman’s return and wondering where he was, and why he stayed away so long. Coulte made his appearance at last, and he came alone, too; but his actions indicated that there was some one behind him whom he was expecting every moment. He walked nervously up and down the porch, stopping every moment or two to gaze at the woods and to run his eyes suspiciously around the clearing, as if fearful that there might be some one approaching whom he did not care to see. Wilson, whose curiosity was aroused, began towatch the woods also, and presently discovered Pierre and Chase approaching. He kept his gaze fastened on them as they walked past the corn-crib into the house, and when Coulte and his son, after confining Chase in the cellar, seated themselves in the doorway to hold their consultation, Wilson listened eagerly, and was greatly disappointed because he was too far off to hear what they said. He was frightened, indeed, when he saw Pierre arise from his seat and approach the crib, but supposing that he wanted some corn for his horse, and that when he got it he would go away again, he drew the sail over his head and held fast to it to keep the wind from blowing it off. Pierre seized the mast and gave a pull at the sail, but could not start it.
“What’s the matter here?” he growled, twisting the mast about and turning it over as if he thought it had caught against the side of the crib.
“If I let go and he lifts up the sail, it will be all over with me,” soliloquized Wilson; and the thought frightened him, and he held on with more determination than ever. “Why don’t he get his corn and clear out?”
But Pierre wanted something besides corn. Hewanted the sail, and he was determined to have it, too. After a few unsuccessful attempts to lift it from the corn he grew surprised and angry, and throwing all his strength into his arms he gave a quick jerk and pulled the canvas out of Wilson’s grasp. The latter gave himself up for lost, and was very much amazed as well as relieved when he heard Pierre close the door and go back down the ladder. He could scarcely realize that he had escaped, until he saw him and his father disappear in the woods on their way to the bayou where the pirogue lay.
“I’ve learned something,” said Wilson, as soon as he had satisfied himself that Pierre and his father had really left the clearing; “and that is that a Creole can’t see after twelve o’clock. I can’t account for his blindness in any other way. Now, the next thing is to find Chase. He’s somewhere in that house, and I will get him out if I have to burn it over his head.”
Talking thus to himself, Wilson scrambled over the corn to the door, and there encountered an obstacle. The door was fastened on the outside with a hasp and a wooden pin, and the openings between the logs were so narrow that he could not get his arm through to take the pin out. After several ineffectual attempts to reach the fastenings, he threw himself flat on his back and sent both his heavy boots against the door with all his strength; but finding that it resisted his efforts, and that he waswasting his breath to no purpose, he jumped up and turned his attention to the roof. The rafters, which were saplings three inches in diameter, were placed about two feet apart and covered with narrow oak boards, laid on like shingles, and held in position by small nails. A few determined kicks scattered the boards right and left; and when he had made an opening sufficiently large to admit his shoulders, he thrust his head out and looked about him. He could see nobody (that, however, was no evidence that there was no one in sight), and believing that his movements were unobserved, he clambered out of the opening, slid down the roof to the eaves, and dropped to the ground. A few hasty steps brought him to the porch, and a few more to the wide hall which ran through the building. He did not waste time in trying the door, for he knew that Coulte had locked it and put the key in his pocket, but ran at once to a ladder which led to a loft over one of the rooms. Ascending to the top with the agility of a squirrel, he threw off one of the loose boards which formed the floor of the loft, and looked down into the room below. When his eyes rested on the articles that had been piled on the trap-door, he knew where to look for his friend.
“I say!” he cried, in a suppressed, hot, excited tone of voice.
“Say it yourself,” was the answer which came faintly to his ears. “I knew you would never desert me, old fellow. I am glad to see you.”
Chase had not yet seen his friend, but he did see him a few minutes afterward, for Wilson no sooner heard his voice coming from the cellar than he dropped into the room as lightly as a cat, and began throwing Coulte’s furniture about in the most reckless manner. He broke a leg off the table, smashed a chair or two, upset the bureau, scattering its contents over the floor, and having cleared the trap-door, he slammed it back against the wall, and went down the rickety stairs in two jumps.
“Speak up, Chase,” said he. “It’s as dark as a stack of black cats down here.”
“This way,” replied the prisoner. “Take it easy, and don’t knock your brains out against the beams overhead. We’ve plenty of time, for Coulte and Pierre won’t be back for two hours. They’ve gone down to the bayou to launch the pirogue, and get it ready to take me to Lost Island to-night.”
“Eh!” exclaimed Wilson, in great amazement.“Were they going to carry you to sea in a dugout?”
“Certainly. It was their intention to run me off to the island and leave me there until they could have time to pack up and move to some other country. That isn’t the most surprising thing I have to tell you, either. What did you come here for?”
It was no wonder that Chase expressed a little curiosity on this point, for Wilson’s actions did not indicate that he had come there for any purpose in particular. He stood with his hands in his pockets, looking down through the darkness in the direction from which Chase’s voice came, but he did not make any move to release him. He was thinking of the proposed voyage in the pirogue, and wondering if the old Frenchman and his son were really reckless enough to attempt it. The question propounded by his friend brought him to his senses, however, and in a few seconds more the prisoner was standing erect, and Wilson was shaking his hand as though he had not met him for years.
“We’ll not stay here another instant,” said Chase, hurriedly. “This is the second time that my liberty has been restored to me to-day, and nowI intend to make use of it. Do you know anything about my horse?”
“I left him in the canebrakes with mine, not a quarter of a mile from here. We’ll be in the saddle, and on our way home in less than fifteen minutes. Is there anything to eat in this house?”
“Plenty of it. Coulte always keeps his larder well supplied.”
“I wonder if he would raise any objections to our eating a loaf or two of his bread, and drinking three or four pans of milk? I’m hungry. I haven’t tasted a mouthful since we ate lunch yesterday.”
“Neither have I. We don’t care whether he objects or not. He got us into this scrape, and he certainly ought to feed us.”
The boys had by this time reached the top of the cellar-stairs, and after slamming down the door as if they meant to burst it off its hinges, they made a movement toward the cupboard. The sight that met their eyes as they opened the door was a most welcome one to them. There was bread, meat and milk in abundance, and in a remarkably short space of time the hungry boys had completely cleared some of the shelves. They kept both hands employed—one in crowding the food into theirmouths, and the other in transferring it from the cupboard to the pockets of their shooting-jackets, listening the while with all their ears, and trembling with anxiety lest Coulte or Pierre should steal a march on them and return before they knew it. After they had laid in a bountiful supply of bread and meat, and made way with a pan of milk, they were ready to leave the house; but just then Wilson suddenly ceased the working of his jaws, turned his head on one side for a moment, and held up his finger warningly. Chase looked his surprise; he could not say a word, for his mouth was too full.
“I heard a step in the hall,” whispered Wilson, as soon as he could speak.
“It can’t be possible,” said Chase, in the same cautious whisper. “Coulte hasn’t had time to get half way to the bayou yet.”
“I don’t care, he’s out there; or somebody is, for I know I heard a stealthy foot-fall.”
The boys held their breath and listened, but the sound that had attracted Wilson’s attention was not repeated. That, however, was not enough to convince him that he had been mistaken, and after looking about the room for a moment, and up atthe opening through which he had come down from the loft, he dropped the bread and meat with which his hands were filled, and made a sign to Chase. The latter, comprehending his friend’s design, took his stand under the opening, with his face to the partition, and in a moment more Wilson was perched upon his shoulders, looking over into the hall. As his head appeared above the opening, he was certain that he saw some one spring around a corner of the building out of sight. He kept his eyes fastened on the spot where the figure had disappeared, and after the lapse of two or three minutes saw the top of a boy’s hat thrust slowly and cautiously into view. Wilson quickly ducked his own head, but not in time to escape discovery.
“It’s he, as sure as the world!” exclaimed a familiar voice.
Wilson, finding that he had been recognised, looked over into the hall again, and boldly faced the unwelcome visitor. “Ah! my young friend,” said he, “is that you?”
“That’s what’s the matter,” replied the boy. “You’re just the fellow we are looking for—the identical fellow.”
“You’re sure of it, are you? Well, now thatyou have found me, what are you going to do about it?”
“We haven’t quite made up our minds yet. We’ll tell you in a few minutes.”
“How are our friends, the smugglers, this fine morning; and how does Walter Gaylord feel since Coulte’s boys made a prisoner of him? I say! That little plan of yours didn’t work as smoothly as it might, did it?”
These words seemed to enrage the boy, who began looking about for some missile to throw at Wilson. The latter looked fiercely at him for a moment, during which time two more boys came around the corner of the building and entered the hall, and then swung himself off Chase’s shoulders and dropped to the floor. “What’s to be done now?” he whispered. “There are Bayard Bell and his cousins.”
The last time we saw Bayard, he and Seth and Will were diving into the bushes to conceal themselves from Featherweight, who was approaching them at a rapid gallop. They had barely time to hide behind a log in the thicket before he came up. They saw him open his eyes in astonishment when he discovered the schooner, and watched him closelywhile he hitched his horse, stepped into the yawl, and pushed off to visit her. Every one of them regarded his appearance there at that particular time as a most unfortunate occurrence, and they would have been glad to prevent him from going on board the vessel, had it not been for the fear of raising a disturbance with him and thus attracting the attention of Mr. Bell.
“Everything is going wrong,” said Bayard, angrily. “We ought to be off now hunting for Wilson, but here’s another spy that demands our attention. Why did he come here where he isn’t wanted?”
“He’ll certainly be discovered,” remarked Seth.
“And if he isn’t, we’ll catch him when he comes ashore,” said Bayard. “He will learn some things he ought not to know, and it will never do to let him go back to his friends. I’ll just creep up through the bushes and catch his horse.”
This was easier said than done. The pony was a vicious little fellow, and did not care to have any one except his master approach him. When he discovered Bayard advancing upon him through the thicket he laid back his ears as if to warn him that he had come near enough; and when the boy aroseto his feet and extended his hand to seize him by the bridle, the pony faced about, kicked at him with both heels, broke his halter, and scampered away to carry consternation among the members of the Sportsman’s Club, who were already growing weary at the non-appearance of their jolly little Secretary. Bayard returned to his companions, grumbling over his failure, and seating himself beside them in the bushes, waited to see what was going to happen on board the schooner. Nor was he obliged to wait long, for before the next quarter of an hour had passed away the events we have already described had taken place; Coulte and Pierre had gone ashore with Chase; and Mr. Bell had also left the vessel and started for home. Nothing more was seen of Featherweight, and Will declared that that was evidence enough that he had been discovered and retained as a prisoner.
“I think so too,” said Bayard, with a long sigh of relief. “He is out of the way, but there is one left, and that is Wilson. He must be secured at all hazards, and that too before he reaches the village.”
“But what shall we do with him when we get him?” asked Seth. “We’ve no place to keep him.”
“Let’s catch him first, and talk about that afterward,” replied Bayard. “I am more than ever interested in the welfare of this band, now that I know that my father is connected with it. That gets ahead of me completely, for I never dreamed of such a thing.”
Bayard and his cousins, being eager to begin the pursuit, did not linger to talk this matter over, but made the best of their way toward the ravine where they had left their horses. After they had mounted, the question arose: which way should they go to find Wilson? Considerable time was consumed in debating this point, but it was finally decided that the only thing they could do was to ride along the road toward the village. If Wilson had not already gone there, they would certainly intercept him by following this course; but if he had reached the town and spread the alarm, why then the mischief was done and could not be undone. They would then go to Mr. Bell and let him decide what steps should be taken next. This being settled, they started off at a rapid gallop, which they kept up until they had entered the old Frenchman’s clearing and were half way across it, and then Bayard, who was leading the way, suddenly pulled up hishorse and pointed toward the house. His cousins looked in the direction indicated just in time to see a boy, who looked very much like the one of whom they were in search, drop down from a corn-crib and run into the hall.
“There he is!” exclaimed Bayard, gleefully. “We’re all right now. He hasn’t been to the village at all, and consequently has told no one of our secret.”
“How do you know that?” asked Will, who thought his cousin rather hasty in forming his conclusions.
“Why, he’s here alone, isn’t he? If he had visited any of the settlers and told them what he heard us say yesterday, and what happened last night in Mr. Gaylord’s yard, some of them would have been here with him. I feel greatly encouraged. Let’s surround the house and capture him.”
“And if we come to close quarters with him, be careful to keep out of the way of his fists,” added Will. “He’s as strong as a horse, and he isn’t afraid of anything.”
Bayard waved his hands right and left, and his cousins separated and dismounted on opposite sides of the house. After hitching their horses theyentered the hall on tip-toe just as the fugitives had finished their raid on the old Frenchman’s eatables, and were discovered in the manner we have described.
“Fellows,” whispered Bayard, when Wilson had dropped back into the room after holding the short colloquy we have recorded, “there’s some one in there with him, for I can hear them talking. It’s Chase, I’ll bet a dollar.” Then raising his voice he called out: “You were getting ready to leave, were you? It seems we arrived just in time. We’ve got you both right where we want you. We’ll teach you to play eavesdropper before we are done with you.”
Chase and Wilson made no reply to this. The latter, who did not intend to be cheated out of his dinner, even if there were enemies almost within reach of him, once more picked up his bread and meat, and while he was devouring it ran his eyes all around the room as if searching for some avenue of escape.
“You needn’t keep so still in there,” continued Bayard in a louder tone. “We know just how the thing stands.”
“Well, what of it?” demanded Chase. “What do you propose to do about it?”
“Ah! my young boy, I thought you were there,” cried Bayard, recognising Chase’s voice. “We don’t intend to do much. We’ll just keep you in that room till Coulte comes home—that’s all.”
“We’d like to see you do it,” replied Wilson, angrily. “We’re coming out now, and if any of you stand in our way you’ll get hurt. We don’t want anything more to do with you, and you will save yourselves trouble by going off and minding your own business.”
As Wilson said this he and Chase once more laid down their bread and meat, and began making preparations to leave the room.
As the door was locked and Coulte had the key in his pocket, there was but one way this could be done, and that was by going out at the hole in the floor of the loft where Wilson had come in. Their first move was to restore the bureau to an upright position and pull it under the hole; and their next to spring upon the top of it, settle their hats firmly on their heads, push back their sleeves, and make other demonstrations indicative of a resolve to giveBayard and his cousins a warm reception if they dared to attack them.
“I will go first,” said Wilson. “I know they will pitch into me the moment I touch the floor, but I am good for two of them if you will manage the other.”
“Trust me for that,” said Chase.
“Be ready to follow me without the loss of an instant,” continued Wilson, earnestly. “Strike right and left, and don’t be at all particular where you hit. As soon as we have beaten them off we’ll run for our horses.”
While these preparations were being made on the inside of the room, Bayard was equally busy on the outside. His ears kept him posted in all that was going on on the other side of the partition, and when he heard Chase and Wilson moving the bureau across the floor, he knew what they intended to do, and set to work at once to defeat their designs.
“Our only chance is to keep them in that room until Coulte returns,” said he, to his cousins. “If we allow them to come out they will give us more than we can attend to, for they are well nighdesperate. Seth, run to the crib and bring us an armful of corn.”
“What for?” asked that worthy.
“Why, to throw at them, of course. Be quick, now.”
Seth hurried off and presently returned with two or three dozen ears of corn, which he deposited on the floor of the hall. Bayard and Will caught up an ear in each hand, and placing themselves in favorable positions for throwing, waited for one of the boys on the other side of the partition to show himself.
“Better keep close in there,” said Bayard, when he heard Chase and Wilson push the bureau against the wall and spring upon it. “We’re ready for you, and if you know when you are well off you won’t try to come out.”
“Who asked for your advice?” demanded Chase. “We are coming, and when we get out into that hall we don’t want to find you there.”
“We’ll be in Bellville in about four hours,” chimed in Wilson; “and when we get there won’t we have a nice story to tell about you? My eye! I wouldn’t be in your place for a whole cart-load of money.”
“You’re not in Bellville yet,” replied Bayard, in a voice that was rendered almost indistinct with passion. “Keep down, I say. We give you fair warning that the first one who shows himself will get his head broken.”
Wilson, not in the least daunted by this threat, seized the uppermost log of the partition with both hands, and began scrambling out of the hole; but scarcely had the top of his hat appeared in view when three heavy ears of corn, propelled with all the force that sinewy arms could give them, shot up from below—one passing within an inch of his head, another knocking off his hat, and a third striking him on the shoulder and sending him back into the room. He landed on his feet on the bureau, but would have fallen if Chase had not caught him in his arms.
“Are you hurt?” asked the latter, in alarm.
“Not in the least, only astonished,” replied his companion. “They are too sharp to allow us to come to close quarters with them. I didn’t think they would resort to a trick like that, and I am satisfied now that we can’t go out that way. I would as soon face bullets as those ears of corn. We must try strategy.”
“And we must be in a hurry about it, too,” replied Chase, “for we have already wasted a good deal of valuable time. Coulte may return at any moment.”
“We’re in a bad scrape,” said Wilson, beginning to get discouraged.
“Yes, we are; but still we are better off than Fred Craven. He’s in a fix, I tell you; and he got into it by trying to help me. He’s a prisoner on board——”
A single word we utter, or an act that we perform, is sometimes recalled to our minds when we least expect it, and not unfrequently makes great changes in our prospects for the future. Chase did not have time to say any more about the prisoner he had left on board the schooner, but what little he did say was remembered by Wilson, who afterward repeated it to one who instantly became interested in Chase’s welfare, and succeeded in getting him out of the worst predicament he had ever got into. He was going to tell how he had met Featherweight, and to repeat all that had passed between them, when Bayard called out:
“You haven’t started for Bellville yet, have you? I think it will be a long time before youwill have a chance to tell those stories about us. Hollo, here! You’re just in time.”
A heavy step sounded in the hall, and some one growled out in reply to Bayard’s salutation:
“Hollo yourself! What are you doing in this house? I’ve seen enough of you, and you had better make yourselves scarce about here, sudden.”
“That’s Pierre,” whispered Chase, in great alarm. “We’re done for now.”
Yes, it was Pierre. When he reached the bayou he found that the pirogue was in need of some repairs. Long exposure to the sun had opened wide seams in her sides, and these must be caulked before she was put into the water. Pierre at once returned to the house to get the necessary implements, and arrived there just in time to be of assistance to Bayard and his cousins. The fugitives were dismayed when they heard his voice. They stood irresolute for a moment, and then began running about the room, moving with cautious footsteps, and darting from side to side like a couple of rats cornered in an oat-bin. They heard a few words of the conversation that was carried on in the hall, but they were too nearly overcome withterror, and too completely absorbed in their desire to escape, to pay much attention to it.
“If you knew what an important service we have just rendered you, you wouldn’t be in such a hurry to order us to make ourselves scarce about here,” said Bayard, addressing himself to Pierre. “You left a prisoner here, didn’t you?”
“What of him?” demanded Pierre, and this time he spoke in a very different tone of voice. “Have you seen him? Has he escaped?”
“Do you remember the fellow you allowed to go at liberty last night when you captured Chase?” continued Bayard. “Well, he has been hanging around here watching you; and a few minutes ago he came into the house, tore a hole in the floor of the loft—”
“Where is he now?” interrupted Pierre, who did not like Bayard’s roundabout way of getting at things.
“He’s in that room, and so is Chase. They would have come out and made off if it hadn’t been for us; but we drove them back by throwing corn at them.”
Before Bayard had finished his explanation Pierre was trying to force an entrance into theroom. He produced a key from his pocket and unlocked the door, but it refused to open for him, for it was securely fastened on the inside by a heavy hickory poker, one end of which had been placed under the lock, and the other firmly braced against the floor.
“Open here!” shouted Pierre, “or it will be worse for you when I get inside.”
No answer was returned, and Pierre, filled with rage, began trying to burst the door open by placing his brawny shoulders against it and pushing with all his strength, and then kicking it with his heavy boots; but his efforts were useless, and he finally desisted and turned his eyes toward the ladder that led toward the loft.
“Don’t try to go in that way,” said Bayard. “They are plucky fellows, and they would throw something at you the moment you showed your face above the partition. Cut the door down.”
Pierre thought this good advice. He hurried out of the hall and presently returned with an axe, with which he attacked the door furiously. The hinges held, and so did the lock; but the inside of the door gave way, and in a few seconds Pierre had cut a hole large enough to admit him into the room.He cautiously thrust his head into it, but could see no one. He reconnoitred the interior thoroughly, and finally, with an exclamation of amazement, worked his way hastily through the opening. There was the broken furniture which the boys had scattered about the room, the open cupboard with the empty shelves, and the bread and meat they had left behind them; but the boys themselves were nowhere to be seen.
Bayard and his cousins squeezed themselves through the hole in the door, one after the other, all of them revolving in their minds some tantalizing remarks they intended to address to Chase and Wilson when they saw them; and the surprise and bewilderment they exhibited when they found the room empty, were quite equal to Pierre’s. The latter, after looking all about the apartment to make sure that the boys were not there, lighted a candle, threw open the trap-door, and dived into the cellar, where he spent some time in overturning the boxes and barrels that were stowed around the walls; and when he came out again the expression his face wore was a sufficient indication that his search had been fruitless.
“Now, see here,” said he, looking savagely at Bayard; “what sort of a story is this you have been telling me?”
“I told you the truth,” replied the boy, retreating hastily toward the door as Pierre advanced upon him. “Wilson was certainly in this room, because we all saw him when he made an attempt to climb out of that hole in the loft. Look around a little. He’s here, I know he is.”
Pierre, who believed that Bayard was trying to mislead him for some purpose of his own, and who had been on the point of giving him a good shaking with a view of forcing the real facts of the case out of him, looked toward the other boys for a confirmation of this story. Seth and Will loudly protested that their cousin had told the truth, and nothing but the truth, and Pierre, being in some measure convinced by their earnestness, lifted the table from the floor, and after pushing it against the wall to enable it to retain an upright position, placed his candle upon it, and set to work to give the apartment a thorough overhauling.
“If they were in the room when I reached the house, they must be here now,” said he, “for there is no way for them to get out except through the door and that hole in the loft. Move everything, and we’ll find them.”
Suiting the action to the word, Pierre seized oneof the beds, and pulled it into the middle of the floor, and there, snugly hidden behind a pile of saddles, old blankets, boots, hats, boxes, and a variety of other articles that had been thrown under the couch for safekeeping, was Henry Chase. Pierre had looked under that same bed when he first came in; but as it was dark in the room—there being no windows in the house—and his examination had been hastily made, Chase had escaped his observation.
“Here’s one of them!” exclaimed Pierre, seizing the fugitive by the collar and lifting him to his feet.
“What did we tell you?” cried Bayard. “Are you satisfied now that we knew what we were talking about?”
“Where’s the other fellow—what’s his name?” demanded Pierre.
“Wilson,” suggested Seth.
“I’m sure I don’t know where he is,” answered Chase, and he told the truth. Just before he dived under the bed, he saw Wilson running frantically about the room as if he did not know which way to turn, but where he went, Chase had not the remotestidea. “And if I did know I wouldn’t tell you,” he added, boldly.
“Youdoknow,” exclaimed Bayard. “He was in this room with you not five minutes ago.”
“I don’t deny that, but still I don’t know where he is. O, you may strike me, if you feel so inclined,” added Chase, as Pierre drew back his clenched hand, “but I can’t tell you a thing I don’t know, can I?”
“Bring me something to tie him with,” said Pierre, turning to Bayard; “one of those bridles will do. We’ll make sure of him, now that we have got him, and then look for the other.”
Bayard brought the bridle with alacrity, and even assisted in confining Chase’s arms, the latter submitting to the operation without even a show of resistance. Pierre used more than usual care in making the straps fast, and when he had bound the boy so tightly that he could scarcely move a finger, he pulled a chair into the middle of the room and pushed him into it. His short experience with his prisoner had convinced him that he was a very slippery fellow, and he thought it best to have him where he could keep his eyes upon him.
As soon as Chase had been disposed of, thesearch for Wilson was renewed, Bayard and his cousins lending willing aid. They began by examining every nook and corner of the cellar, and not finding him there, they returned to the room above and pulled the beds to pieces, explored the loft, and looked into all sorts of impossible places, even peering under chairs, and taking out the bureau drawers; and finally, one after another, they made a journey to the fire-place and looked up the chimney. But they could see nothing there. There was a fire on the hearth, and the smoke ascended in such volumes that it speedily filled their eyes and nostrils, and they were glad to draw back into the room for a breath of fresh air. Chase sat in his chair watching all their movements with the deepest interest. His friend’s sudden and mysterious disappearance astonished and perplexed him as much as it did anybody; but he exulted over it, while Pierre and his young assistants seemed to be very much dismayed, especially the former. After the house had been thoroughly searched (even the apartment across the hall was examined, although there was not the least probability that Wilson could have got into it), Pierre walked once or twice across the room, and then taking down ahunting-horn from its nail over the fire-place, went to the door and blew it as if he meant that it should be heard by everybody for ten miles around. When he came back he addressed himself rather sternly to Bayard.
“Now, then, clear out,” said he. “Be off at once, and never let me see your face again.”
“What are you going to do with Chase, and what were you blowing that horn for?” asked Bayard, who thought it might be policy to learn something of Pierre’s plans before he left him.
“That’s my own business,” was the gruff reply. “Do you see that hole in the wall? It was left there for folks to go out of, and I advise you to make use of it.”
Pierre pointed toward the door, and Bayard, judging by the expression of his countenance that it would be a dangerous piece of business to irritate him by refusing to comply with his wishes, sprang out into the hall, followed by his cousins.
“That’s the return we get for doing him a favor,” said he, as he led the way toward the place where their horses were tied. “However, I don’t mind it much, for Chase is captured again, and if we can only secure Wilson we are all right.As he is not in the house, it follows as a thing of course that he must be out of it; although how he got out is a mystery to me. He has taken to the woods, most likely, and if we start after him at once we can catch him.”
Bayard and his cousins mounted their horses and rode off at a gallop. Pierre watched them until they were out of sight, and then went into the house and renewed his search for Wilson, which he kept up until he was interrupted by a hasty step in the hall, and Coulte appeared and looked through the broken door. He had heard the sound of the hunting-horn, and knowing from the peculiar manner in which it was blown, that there was something unusual going on at the house, he had hurried back to see what was the matter. A single glance at the inside of the room and at his son’s face, was enough to tell him that the latter had some exciting news to communicate.
“Oh! Whew! Somedings is going wrong again!” he exclaimed, in a frightened tone.
Pierre replied that there were a good many things going wrong, and in a few hurried words made him acquainted with all that had happened in the house during the last fifteen minutes, adding a piece ofinformation and prediction that greatly alarmed Coulte, namely: that Wilson had again escaped, and that in less than an hour he would return to the clearing with an army of settlers at his heels. The old Frenchman listened eagerly to his son’s story, only interrupting him with long-drawn whistles, which were loud and frequent, and when it was finished declared that it was necessary to make a change in their plans—that, instead of waiting until night to begin the voyage to Lost Island, they must begin it at once. They would sail down the bayou into the swamp, conceal themselves there until dark, and then continue their journey. What they would do after they had disposed of their prisoner, Coulte said he did not know; but of one thing he was satisfied, and that was, that they could not return to the settlement to sell their property, as they had intended to do. They had worked hard for it, but they must give it up now, for it would probably be confiscated when the authorities learned that he and his sons belonged to the smugglers. This thought seemed to drive the old Frenchman to the verge of distraction. He paced up and down the floor with his beloved pipe tightly clenched between his teeth, swinging his arms wildly about hishead, talking loudly, sometimes in English and sometimes in French, and declaring, over and over again, that this was the most magnificent scrape he had ever got into.
“Well, I can’t help it,” grumbled Pierre. “You know that I didn’t want to have anything to do with it in the first place. I told you just how it would end, and now there is no use in wasting words over it. Let’s be moving, for as long as we stay here we’re in danger.”
Pierre bustled out of the room, and presently returned with an axe, a side of meat, a small bag of corn-meal, and a couple of old blankets, which he deposited in the hall. He then approached the prisoner and remarked, as he began untying his arms—
“As those things are intended for you, you can take them down to the boat yourself. Have you a flint and steel?”
“I have,” replied Chase. “Is that all you are going to give me for an outfit?”
“Of course, and you may be glad to get it, too. What more do you want? There’s grub enough to last you a week, blankets to keep you warm ofnights, and an axe to build your camp and cut fire-wood.”
“Why, I want a gun and some ammunition. How am I going to get anything to eat after that bread and meat are gone?”
“Trap it, that’s the way. Your own gun is on board the schooner; we’ve got none here to give you, and besides, you don’t need one, and shan’t have it. Shoulder those things and come along; and mind you, now, no tricks.”
Chase picked up his outfit and followed his captors, who, after loading themselves with various articles, which they thought they might need during the voyage, led the way across the clearing at a rapid walk, keeping a bright lookout on all sides to make sure that there was no one observing their movements.
About ten minutes after they left the house, an incident happened there that would have greatly astonished Pierre and his father, could they have witnessed it. At one side of the room in which happened the events that we have just attempted to describe, was an immense fire-place. The lower part of it was built of logs and lined with mud, which had been baked until it was as hard as arock. The upper part—that is, the chimney—was built of sticks, and was also plastered with mud, both inside and out. As the chimney had been standing nearly ten years it was in a very dilapidated state, and leaned away from the house as though it meant to fall over every moment. Near the top were several holes which had been made by the sticks burning out and falling into the fire-place; and had Coulte and his son thought to look up at the chimney when they left the house, they would have found that some of these holes were filled with objects they had never seen there before. One of them looked very much like the toe of a heavy boot; and at another opening, about five feet nearer the top, was something that might have been taken for a black hat with three holes cut in it. But it was not a black hat; it was something else.
Shortly after Chase and his captors had disappeared in the woods, this dilapidated structure began to rock and groan in the most alarming manner. Huge cakes of mud fell down into the fire, and had there been any one in the room at the time he would have said that there was some heavy body working its way down the chimney. Presentlya pair of boots appeared below the mouth of the fire-place, then a portion of a pair of trowsers, next the skirts of an overcoat, and at last a human figure dropped down among the smouldering coals, and with one jump reached the middle of the floor, where it stood stamping its feet to shake off the sparks of fire that clung to them, pounding its clothes, scattering a cloud of soot about the room, and gasping for breath. It was Leonard Wilson, but he did not look much like the neatly-dressed young fellow who had entered that room but a short half-hour before.
When Wilson found that Pierre had returned, the first place he thought of was the chimney, which he believed offered the best chances for concealment. He did not like to enter it, for there was considerable wood on the hearth; it was all in a blaze, and he was afraid to trust himself among the flames; but when he heard the door groaning under the furious blows of the axe, he knew that he had no alternative—he must brave the flames or submit to capture. He saw Chase dive under the bed, and after waiting a moment to screw up his courage, he bounded lightly across the floor and sprang into the fire-place. He did not linger therean instant—if he had, he must have been burned or suffocated, for the flames leaped around his high top-boots, and the smoke ascended so thick and fast that it was impossible to obtain even the smallest breath of air—but mounted at once into the chimney, and placing his back against one side and his knees against the other, quickly worked his way as near the top as his broad shoulders would allow him to go. As it happened there were two holes about half way up the chimney, which were just large enough to admit the toes of his boots; and by forcing a foot into each, and placing his face to another opening nearer the top, he was able to hold his position without the outlay of a great deal of strength, and to obtain all the fresh air he needed. The flimsy old chimney swayed like a tree in a gale of wind as he was ascending it, and threatened to topple over with him every instant; but it maintained its upright position in spite of his additional weight, and afforded him as perfect a concealment as he could have asked for. But, for all that, he was glad when he saw Coulte and his son disappear in the woods, and felt still more at his ease when he found himself safe out of hissmoky hiding-place, and standing in the middle of the room.
“Another close shave,” panted Wilson, pulling out his handkerchief and clearing his eyes of the dust and soot. “I put myself in danger for nothing, for Chase is still a prisoner. I know what I shall do now: I’ll go straight to Walter Gaylord and tell him everything that has happened. Perhaps he won’t be very glad to see me after all the mean things I have been guilty of, but I can’t help it.”